


Swifter Than Reason

by alassenya



Series: Paths Unconformable [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, M/M, Minor Character Deaths, Sexual Assault, Torture, medical treatment, military combat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 33,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alassenya/pseuds/alassenya
Summary: The USA is engaged in yet another proxy war against the USSR, this time in Croatoa, in central Asia.  Dean has been captured by Croatoan forces.  It's up to Castiel and Anna Milton, one of the army's best sentinel teams, to rescue him.  When that doesn’t work out as planned, Dean and Castiel have to help each other to safety and then deal with the aftermath.We never would have loved had love not struckSwifter than reason, and despite reason...-- Robert Graves, "Under the Olives"





	1. Croatoa

**Author's Note:**

> Please refer to the [Guide to the SGINA-verse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1493974) for background information.

_Tuesday 01 June 2010_

As far as Staff Sergeant Dean Winchester could work out, it was day five of his captivity. He wasn't entirely sure, because his watch had been taken from him along with everything else, but it felt like five days. Actually it _felt_ like a lot longer, what with the hunger and thirst and the pain from his many wounds, but his brain -- scrambled, yes, from the sleep deprivation, but still functioning on an as-needs basis -- was pretty sure it was five days. 

As to why he was still alive after five days ... well, he had no idea. Especially after yesterday. He fought against the inevitable wave of nausea that rose when he thought about yesterday.

He'd fucked up so badly.

Now he'd had a night to think about it and come down from the excruciating adrenaline spike that had supported him through his ordeal, he was appalled at what he'd done. All his training, all his experience, his strength, his goddamn _pride_ ... all for nothing, in the end.

He'd broken. He'd folded. He'd given it up like a cheap whore, and the Croatoans hadn't even had the decency to kill him afterwards.

How the hell was he supposed to live with himself now?

~~~~~

It might have been an hour later; it might have been three or four. There was the sound of brisk footsteps in the corridor outside, which usually heralded either a meal or another interrogation session. Since he'd already been fed that morning, it had to be interrogation, and he mentally braced himself for another round, this time of Colonel Alistair's undivided attention. Instead of the clanging of the cell door, however, there was a brief exclamation, and then silence.

He held himself still for a minute, but nothing happened, and he gradually made himself relax -- as much as he could -- and sink back down on the cot.

Thirty seconds later, there was the _crack!thump!_ of a shaped charge and then the door fell in.

The figure that emerged from the dust and smoke was clearly special ops, wearing a close-fitting dark camouflage uniform, face paint, and tac vest. The figure was also very short.

Later on, he blamed it on being loopy from pain and hunger and not having slept well for a week, but right then he just couldn't help it. He raised himself up on one elbow and asked, "Aren’t you a little short for a Ranger?"

The figure halted, then lifted her cap to reveal pale skin and a glimpse of red hair and said, "I'm Anna Milton. I'm here to rescue you."

Dean flashed a grin at her. The movement of muscle under charred skin was excruciating, but the fact that she'd picked up his reference so fast and responded in kind was kind of amazing.

"Tell me you're here with Ben Kenobi and I'll love you forever."

"Not quite, he's more like Yoda." She paused a moment, stifled a giggle, then leaned forward. "Can you walk?" 

"Yeah, I think. They didn't do much to my legs." He managed to get up from the cot without assistance, stifling a moan as his broken fingers moved, and pretended not to hear her horrified gasp when she saw the burns on his back. It was only skin. Skin could be replaced. Bones could be splinted. Eyes, on the other hand ... he shuddered, and forced his mind away from that memory.

Anna produced a couple of tablets and held out her canteen. "These will take the edge off. I'm sorry, I don't have time to treat anything else right now. We have to get out of the building."

He nodded and swallowed the tablets. The water was as sweet as nectar after the thirst he'd had for the last two days, but he knew better than to take more than a couple of mouthfuls. There would be more later, if they got out of here alive.

"So, which one are you?" she asked, re-stowing the canteen on her webbing.

"Winchester, Staff Sergeant."

"Do you know where the others are?"

"Dead."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Nothing said dead like complete evisceration, after all. Or having your throat cut.

"OK. I'll find you some clothing." She ducked out of the cell.

Dean concentrated on standing upright and not fainting. He hadn't lied, precisely -- they hadn't done as much to his legs as they had to his hands and torso, but he was pretty bruised all over and still shaky from the rapes.

Anna came back in with a heap of clothing. "Clothes should be OK, not sure about the boots."

He gave them a quick glance. "How far do we have to go?" 

"About a kilometer."

"A size bigger would be nice. I can make do if not."

"I'll check."

She was back in under a minute with another set of boots. By then he had managed to pull the pants and shirt on (resolutely ignoring the still-sticky blood on the shirt that told him exactly how the previous owner had died) but fastening the buttons was beyond him. It didn't faze her though -- she just leaned in and fastened the buttons, then knelt to assist him with the socks and boots.

"Thanks," he managed to say, though it cost him. He hated being so helpless.

"No problem." She buckled a belt with a holster around his waist.

He lifted his hands. "I'm not sure I'll be able to use a weapon."

"You shouldn't need to. But if the worst comes to the worst, I'll feel happier if ... well, you know."

Yes, he did know. He nodded.

She looked straight ahead and said, "Cas, we're ready to leave the cells. Any hostiles I need to know about?"

Dean heard the faint static double click of her headset -- which she had definitely _not_ touched prior to speaking -- and his jaw dropped. He rated a Sentinel extraction team?

A second later, he realized that he didn't. He wasn't the one they'd been sent in for, after all -- they had undoubtedly hoped to rescue the lieutenants, and had to settle for him because he happened to be the only one left alive. Well, he wasn't going to complain if it got him out of here.

Anna led the way out of the cell block. They passed several bodies, most of them lying in large pools of blood. He almost whistled -- whatever else she might be, this woman was clearly an expert with a knife. He made a mental note to keep a lid on any smart comments he might be tempted to make in her hearing.

There was a man waiting for them at the exit - American uniform, dark skin under the camo. He nodded to Anna and covered them as they moved forward, then fell in behind.

Dean moved as fast as he could, but he wasn't nearly as fast or as quiet as he usually was. Anna didn't seem to care much though, she just steadied him as they hit rougher ground near the perimeter.

They were through and at least a hundred yards into the surrounding terrain before he saw another man approaching them from the side. His hand automatically went for his gun and he winced as his fingers brushed against his hip.

"It's OK, it's our sentinel," said the soldier following them.

Dean relaxed. The four of them proceeded further into the wood.

"You have transport?"

"Yeah, there's a helo a half-kilometer ahead."

"OK." His back was burning and his fingers had shooting pains at every step, but he kept on going. He had to reach that helicopter. Then the nice lady with the great knife technique would give him morphine and they'd go flying up into the sky. Or maybe the tablets would kick in. Either way, reaching that helo was his only goal for the moment.

Another soldier appeared in front of them. He stiffened when he noted Dean's Croatoan outfit (or maybe it was all the blood) but was obviously reassured over his radio and let them through. The helicopter, one of the newest stealth models, was waiting in a small clearing, doors open and rotors idling.

The sentinel -- whose face was so thoroughly obscured by camo paint that all Dean could make out was a pair of very blue eyes -- had been muttering into his headset for the last few minutes, and, as they approached the clearing he heard what the man had been worried about -- a vehicle, coming towards them at speed. Dean figured it would be a close call as to whether they would get out of there before the Croatoans caught up with them, but he was determined not to hold the others back.

"Run!" ordered Anna, giving him a push, which hurt like fuck, but he obediently hurried a little faster, holding his hands close into his stomach so they didn't move as much. The helo's rotors started to turn faster and he tucked his head down. He was bundled onto the helo, Anna and the sentinel close behind him, while the other two soldiers steadied their rifles.

The Croatoans burst into view -- a jeep carrying three men, one of whom was raising a submachine gun. The officer in the passenger seat was shouting at them, presumably to stand down, but inevitably the Americans' response was to open fire instead.

"Stay down," ordered the sentinel, his voice low and gruff. Dean wasn't going to argue -- he might have a pistol, but his hands were in no condition to use it with any accuracy.

There was a clatter of bullets hitting the chassis and Dean flattened himself further, trying to meld with the metal. Anna gave a sharp exclamation and leaned on him more heavily for a moment before righting herself. Dean took a few minutes to catch his breath again - she might be small, but that had hurt.

The soldiers scrambled into the helo, and the rotors whined as they ramped up to full power, and then they were rising. Dean risked peeking out of the door on his side, but there was nothing but forest. He really hoped that the guys on the other side were taking out the enemy, or this was likely to be a very short flight indeed.

They were only a meter and a half off the ground when another volley of shots was followed by the grinding and screeching of metal breaking up, and the helo suddenly dropped down and to the side.

The next few seconds were chaotic. Dean had automatically put a hand out to brace himself and nearly passed out from the pain as his broken fingers took the impact. There was shouting and firing and metallic groans as the frame bent and twisted. The rotors shattered, either from enemy fire or from the impact, and fragments sprayed everywhere. The tail rotor shuddered and shut down and the helo settled a little further into the ground.

Then he was being dragged out by the sentinel and one of the other soldiers, and had to bite almost through his lip to avoid screaming. He paused to catch his breath when he was dumped on the ground and watched them heading for the pilot, who was slumped in his seat, either dead or unconscious. Anna had rolled behind the helo's tail and was reloading her magazine. The third member of the team -- the one who'd accompanied Anna and the sentinel to the camp -- was on the ground with a pool of blood around his head and one vacant eye staring up at the clouds.

From Dean's vantage point he could see the Croatoan officer reaching for a handgun. He shouted out but none of the others could react in time, and the officer got off at least three rounds. With his left hand, Dean grabbed the weapon at his feet and, steadying it as best he could over his right knee and wrist, he shot at the Croatoan.

His ruse succeeded. He saw the Croatoan swivel towards him and fire. He kept on firing and was rewarded with a direct hit to the Croatoan's face on the second last bullet. He dropped the gun with relief as Anna hurried over.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm OK. Better make sure they're all dead."

"I will."

Dean sank to the ground as he watched Anna double-check that all the Croatoans were dead. She put a single round into the driver's head for insurance and Dean felt a grim satisfaction as the body jerked and fell still.

At the front of the helo, it appeared that the pilot and other soldier were both dead. He watched the sentinel check for pulses and draw himself up, slowly, before heading for the jeep There was blood on his face and hands, but there was no way to tell if it was his own or his team's.

The sentinel helped Anna to pull all three enemy bodies out, dragging them to one side. She was moving slowly, and there was blood shiny and bright on her uniform. Dean hoped she hadn't been hit badly -- he really liked sassy, smart, lethal women, even if they usually turned out to be way out of his league -- but torso shots were rarely good.

"Grab the medical supplies, we're going to need them," said Anna.

The sentinel nodded and clambered into the wreck of the helicopter, emerging with the medical kit and something else that Dean figured was emergency supplies. He made a couple more trips and loaded the jeep with everything he could manage.

They ignored Dean while they worked, which was fine with him. He was still shaky from the last few minutes anyway, especially after operating the assault rifle. He was happy just to sit and try not to throw up.

It wasn't until they came over to help him stand that the sentinel noticed all the blood on Anna's clothing.

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"Let me see it."

"No. We have to get away from the helo before we can stop. They're bound to send another vehicle to check it out." She helped Dean to settle in the passenger seat of the jeep.

"Anna..."

"It's just a graze, caught me under the vest. I'll be fine, just let me drive. You look after the staff sergeant."

"Don't mind me, ma'am. You just drive."

She laughed, and Dean tried to ignore the edge of hysteria he could hear. "That I can do."

"It's not just a graze," the sentinel countered. "Your heart's racing."

"Adrenaline."

"Anna ..."

"Cas. This is not the time to argue. We can either we get out of here right now, or we can argue and end up back in the prison camp. You can check it out later."

Grimly nodding, the sentinel turned away and made a last round of the clearing, putting a bullet through the helo's radio, collecting all the dog tags and mobile phones. His face was furrowed and streaked with blood, but grimly determined as he clambered into the back of the jeep and said, "Go."

They took off with a shudder of gears. The sentinel -- Cas? -- opened up a pocket on his vest and produced a tiny first aid pack. He reached forward with an alcohol swab and Dean jerked away.

"Your wound needs disinfecting. Let me clean it."

"With all due respect, sir, this is not the worst of my wounds, and it's too close to my eye for you to be dealing with it in a moving vehicle. If we get out of here there'll be time to look at it later."

Cas (if that was indeed his name, not that Dean would be using it) pursed his lips in frustration -- though Dean wasn't sure if it was merely his refusal of treatment or the sentinel's own inability to do anything. "Fine. But when we stop I'll give you a thorough checkup."

"Yes, sir."

They drove for several more minutes, while the sentinel stared back through the woodland. If there was any pursuit, it seemed as if they had eluded it. After twenty minutes, he started going through the phones he'd retrieved. Two were locked and he chucked them back in the back. The other two were operable but obviously not showing anything useful.

"Any signal?" asked Anna.

"Nothing so far. I'm worried they'll run down before we get into range of a tower, but I don't want to switch them off in case they're password-protected."

"Airplane mode? It should extend the battery life a bit."

"Yeah, I'll try that." He fiddled with each in turn, and placed them in one of the pockets of his vest.

"I thought every unit was supposed to have a satellite phone," said Dean.

"We did," said Cas. "It took a bullet."

"Oh."

They drove in silence for nearly an hour, until Anna pulled over with a lurch that jarred Dean's back and ribs.

"Sorry guys," she muttered. "Can't go any further."

The sentinel turned to her immediately. "Let me check that wound. Your pulse is very high."

"Internal bleeding."

"You said it was just a graze!"

"Yes, I did. Sorry about that. I think it grazed the liver."

"Shit."

Dean echoed the sentinel's exclamation. He'd seen people bleed out from liver shots before.

They managed to get her out from the driver's seat onto the ground. Dean wasn't able to help much, but using his wrists and forearms and the few fingers on his left hand that still worked, he was able to support her while the sentinel undid her tac vest and uniform blouse. They both blanched when they saw the blood welling up underneath.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she said in a low voice. "Guess I'm not going home this time."

"Anna! Please." He glared at Dean, who took her weight on his forearms while the sentinel rummaged in the medical kit, coming up with some clotting crystals. He tore open the sachet and funneled as much of it as he could into the wound, cursing under his breath.

"Stupid, stubborn idiot. We could have done this back at the helo."

"Was too much of a risk," she said. "We had to get some distance. You know that. They’ll be sending another patrol soon, we needed to get away and cover our tracks."

"We could have taken a few minutes to stop the bleeding."

"It's too deep. Just get going. Leave me here and get away yourselves."

"I’m not leaving you behind," the sentinel shook his head, even as he started to pack up the debris. Everything was thrown into the back of the jeep, and the jumble of bags was redistributed so there was a reasonably flat surface. Dean helped lift Anna onto the makeshift bed, and they arranged her as comfortably as they could.

"Try and find another guide," she said, reaching out for her sentinel's hand. "Please, for me."

"No, I can't."

"Cas! Promise me you'll try. Please, do this for me."

"I ... I ... Anna, please."

"Promise me."

"I promise, Anna. Now please don't die."

"I'll try not to. Just so tired." Her eyes fluttered shut.

Dean glanced at the sentinel, who was checking her pulse. He didn't look very happy at what he was feeling. "Is she OK?"

"For now. Her pulse is fast and thready."

"She must be losing a lot of blood inside."

"I know she is, but there's nothing I can do about it right now," he replied, looking sternly at Dean. Then his expression changed, and he said, "I'm sorry, you're wounded too. I should check you out before we set off again."

"Honestly, sir, I think we ought to keep going."

"Let me at least splint the fingers and give you something for the pain."

Dean was feeling bad enough that he couldn't argue with that plan, so he sat while the sentinel buddy-strapped his left hand and splinted his right around a bandage roll and then gave him a shot of morphine. He got into the driver's seat and Dean eased himself back into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the pain.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"Towards the coast. With luck we'll catch one of our own patrols."

"Won't the Croatoans be expecting that?"

"Probably, but what the hell else can we do? Every other direction takes us deeper into Croatoa."

He was right, thought Dean. They really had no other option but to head west and hope that they could elude anyone on their trail. At least with the jeep they weren't restricted to roads but could cut across country, as long as they didn't leave a blindingly obvious set of tracks. And as long as they didn't run out of fuel. The fuel gauge showed the tank was still three-quarters full, but that wasn't going to take them very far across country.

"Do we have any comms yet?"

"There was no signal on the mobiles when I checked them last. Those that have any charge, anyway."

"Solar charger?"

Cas looked at him and grimaced. "I think Sutton carried one but I forgot to check. Stupid of me."

"Hey, we were under fire, it was chaotic. You can't think of everything."

"I know, but a phone charger is something I should have thought of."

"I had one of those emergency rechargers that runs off a couple of AA batteries," Dean added, hoping he didn't sound too critical.

"So did I, until someone _broke_ it." Cas made a vicious gear change and the whole vehicle shuddered.

Dean winced and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the journey.

They drove for another hour until the light began to fail. The morphine had taken the edge off Dean's pain, but it was still bad enough that he was glad when the sentinel called a halt and drove the jeep into a stand of trees. They didn't dare light a fire but hunkered down in a hollow, using the single space blanket from the medical kit and the chemical heat packs from their food to try and keep Anna warm. She was fading fast, and they both knew she wouldn't last the night, but they did what they could for her, making sure she wasn't in any drafts, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible.

Once Anna was settled, the sentinel turned his attention to Dean. The burn on his left temple was cleaned first. After that it was a major evolution to take the shirt off, and it consumed more of their precious water stores than Dean was happy with, but finally it was off and the sentinel was able to inspect the ruin of his back by torchlight.

"It's bad, isn't it," he said, trying to keep his tone as matter-of-fact as possible.

"It's ... pretty bad," the sentinel confirmed. "Mostly partial thickness, I think. Very painful, I'm afraid, but you should be OK once it's had a chance to heal." He gave Dean a half-smile, recognizing the effort it took for him to remain still and calm. "All I have is antiseptic cream, but it should help a bit. Any other injuries I should know about?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing you can do anything about." There was no way he was going to talk about the other things Alistair and his men had done to him -- and it wasn't the sort of injury that was amenable to first aid anyway. If they made it to safety, he'd be treated then. If they didn't ... well, the burns were the only injuries that were likely to kill him, and the sentinel was busy covering them with antiseptic cream. That was as much as anyone could do for the moment.

The sentinel helped Dean back into his shirt -- a revolting task but they didn't have any spare clothes -- and gave him some more morphine, which allowed Dean a chance to sleep. He was so out of it by then that he didn't even think to ask who was keeping watch, but it was a stupid question anyway -- the sentinel was the only one capable of it, and if he didn't sleep their chances of evading capture the next day would be close to zero. They'd just have to take the risk tonight and hope that no one had followed them closely enough to track them here.

~~~~~

Dean didn't sleep well. He woke in the early hours when the temperature dropped too far for him to be comfortable, even with the tarp that they unearthed from the jeep. He struggled to sit up, hampered by the stiffness of his body. Everything hurt -- his back, his hands, his abdomen -- and he had a raging thirst that reminded him he hadn't had nearly enough to drink yesterday or in the days preceding.

He staggered upright, cursing under his breath with every movement and managed to find a tree he could lean against while he undid his fly and relieved himself. He only got a few drops on his boots, which he thought was pretty damn good considering he could only use the thumb and middle finger of his left hand.

When he returned to the clearing he saw, silhouetted in the early dawn light, the sentinel crouching beside Anna. He didn't have to be an empath to work out what had happened -- it was clearly written in the man's posture.

He walked over to them and looked down. Anna was still: her face waxen pale, her features sharp. He was grateful that her eyes were closed; he didn't think he could have coped with seeing her staring blankly at him. For form's sake he touched a fingertip to her neck, but there was no pulse and her skin was icy cold: she must have been dead at least a couple of hours. There was nothing left for them to do but bury her and move on.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing that the words were, as ever, completely inadequate. "She was a good soldier."

The man didn't answer; he didn't even move as Dean squatted down beside him. Nor did he respond when Dean gently tried to remove Anna's lifeless hand from his.

"Sir? You have to let her go now."

Still no response. Dean shifted around a little so that he could see into the man's face. It was blank and frozen, as if he were a statue carved in granite. His eyes were closed and for one awful moment he thought that the sentinel was dead as well, but the faintest shadow of movement in his neck revealed that he still had a pulse. His expression looked grimly intense, as if he were concentrating hard on something he couldn't see, and Dean figured that he must have zoned out, probably at the moment his guide's heart had stopped beating.

He tried to remember his emergency sentinel aid lessons. _Talk to the sentinel. Appeal to his sense of duty. If the situation is appropriate, ask him to help you._ Well, the situation was definitely appropriate. There was no way Dean could drive the jeep, so he had to get the sentinel functional.

"Focus on me, sir. I need your help. I'm injured, I can't get back on my own. I need you to stay strong for me."

He still wasn't responding. Maybe "sir" was too impersonal. Christ, what was the man's name again? He had a vague memory Anna calling him by name in the jeep but he'd been in so much pain from the vehicle's movements it hadn't really registered. There was no name on his uniform, of course, but he had to be wearing dog tags. With his left thumb -- and a few curses -- Dean managed to ease the chain up from the sentinel's shirt and tilted the tag to read it in the early morning light: _Milton, C_. Dammit, He should have remembered that - his guide had introduced herself as Anna Milton, after all.

"Major Milton. Major Milton, sir, I need you to come back. Major Milton, you have to respond to my voice. Come out of the zone. You're needed here."

Dean waved his hand in front of the man's face, but the sentinel didn't move. He tried pinching the back of his hand, first gently, then more firmly, but without effect. He didn't have anything that might stimulate smell or taste -- not that he had any intention of sticking his fingers in the man's mouth anyway, since neither of them had had a decent wash in a long time.

"Come on, sir, Major Milton. You're needed here. You have a mission to finish."

After a few minutes of this he sighed again. He needed something more immediate -- more personal; something that would get through the fog surrounding his mind and bring him back to the present. Anna had called him Cas -- that would do for now and fuck the regulations.

"Cas, Cas, can you hear me? I need your help. Please, help me. You have to focus. You have to wake up so you can get me home. Anna wants you to take me home."

Had that been a flicker of movement? He tried again, adding a touch on the back of his hand to reinforce the words. "Cas, I need you. I need you to help me get home. Anna needs you to help me. You have to wake up so you can drive the jeep and get us back to base. That's what Anna wants. She wants you to get home. She made you promise, remember?"

Yes -- that eyelid had definitely twitched. Encouraged, Dean continued, but there was no further response.

OK. He had to take a break. He'd get himself a drink of water, and then maybe something to eat ... if he could open up a ration pack. He'd also take a look at the jeep and see if he could possibly drive it himself. If not -- and he strongly suspected that he wasn't going to be either eating or driving without the sentinel's assistance -- then he'd come back and make another attempt to rouse him from his trance.

Ten minutes later, having proved to his satisfaction that he was well and truly going to die on his own, he returned to the sentinel -- to Cas.

"Cas, this is really important. You _have_ to come out of this zone. I'm going to die here if you don't. I can't drive the jeep, I can't open a ration pack, and I can't even open the water canteen. I need water, man. Cas, I need your help. I don't want to die, and you're the only one who can help me." He hoped the note of desperation in his voice would get through, even if the words didn't. "Anna asked you to help me. She made you promise you'd continue being a sentinel. You have to come out of this zone and help me. Please, Cas, I need you."

Cas opened his eyes and blinked. Dean heaved sigh of relief and kept on talking, stroking Cas' hand to emphasize his words.

"That's it, keep on blinking. Let your eyes get accustomed to the light. Concentrate on my voice, come back to me. I need your help, Cas, I need you to come back and help me get home."

Cas swallowed, and Dean gave a silent cheer. This was actually working! "That's it, get your muscles moving again. You have to be able to move so you can help me. Anna made you promise."

"Anna?" Cas' voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, Anna. She wants you to help me get out of here."

"Anna's dead." His voice broke on the second word.

"Yes, she's dead." Dean put his hand on the man's shoulder and gently rubbed with his left thumb. He'd lost team members before; he'd lost family members before; but he couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a guide. At its strongest the sentinel-guide bond verged on telepathy, or at least telempathy, and the sudden loss was frequently described as more devastating than losing a spouse or child. To his horror, he saw that the man was openly crying now, the tears running down his face.

"I'm sorry, I wish there was more I could do to help."

"I don't know what to do." Cas' tone was slightly panicked.

Dean tried to reassure him. "Just keep on breathing for now. Get used to being back in your body. Stretch out your limbs, let the blood flow back in. You've been crouched here for a long time, you're going to have some really bad pins and needles."

"I don't feel well."

"It's shock, I guess. But you can work through it. You just have to stay on top of it. Stay focused on the mission -- we have to get back to base. We have to get home."

"Can't."

"You can. You can do this, sir."

"How?"

Truthfully Dean had no idea. He had a vague notion that he had to keep his requests simple and specific. "One step at a time, sir, just one step at a time."

"But I don't know what the first step is."

Well Dean could help with that. He proffered the canteen he'd tried to open earlier, gently pushing it into Cas' hand. "The first step is opening this canteen so we can both have a drink of water."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, sir. We need water. Open the canteen."

"OK." Cas opened the canteen and looked at it. Dean put his hand under Cas' and lifted it and the canteen to Cas' mouth.

"Drink."

Cas drank a couple of mouthfuls, then let Dean take the canteen.

Dean drank, though not nearly as much as he wanted to. The water was cool, but it had a distinct plastic taste, and on top of that he wasn't sure how much water they had or how far they had to go, and until he did he was going to be very careful.

"Right. Next you have to get up." He hooked an arm under Cas' shoulder and helped him get to his feet, but couldn't help wincing as the movement pulled his shirt tight over his burns.

"You need treatment," said Cas sharply. It was the first time he sounded in control of himself.

"It can wait," said Dean as he straightened himself up.

"No, it can't."

"Sir, what I need is a hospital. And you're the only chance I have of getting there before I die of septicemia."

"I can still clean it up and put more antiseptic on."

"And then I'll put the dirty shirt back on and all your effort will be wasted. I wouldn't say no to some painkillers, but for the rest of it I think we should just press on as fast as we can."

Cas nodded. "You could be right."

"Food's next. There has to be more in that kit you salvaged yesterday."

"Yes, food." He went back to the jeep and rummaged through the bags, returning with a couple of one-man packs. "Here."

Dean took the pack, then silently handed it back to Cas, saying, "You'll have to open the pouches for me, sir."

"Oh, right. Forgot." He did so, efficiently mixing the pouches that were supposed to be mixed and adding water where needed. "Thank god for chemical heat packs," he muttered. "I'd hate to have to eat this stuff cold."

"Yeah, gross just isn't the word for it."

There was silence for a few minutes as they ate. Dean found that he was able to manage the spoon with his left hand -- clumsily, sure, but he got more into his mouth than he spilled on the ground and he counted that as a win. He didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

Cas had eaten the first half of his meal fairly quickly, but he soon tapered off and his gaze kept returning to Anna's body. Dean wondered if he ought to suggest burying her -- they couldn't really afford the time, but he didn't want to leave her to the carrion eaters, and they could hardly put her in the jeep now that rigor mortis was setting in. Well, they could probably get her in, but getting her out again would be tricky.

"Sir," he ventured. "What are we doing about your guide?"

Cas slowly turned to him, as if he hadn't realized there was another person in the clearing. "I don't know."

"It has to be your decision, sir. She's your guide, your wife."

Cas frowned. "Not my wife. My sister."

"Sorry, sir, my mistake."

Cas shrugged. "It's of no importance now. She was the only family I had left, anyway." He stood there, looking at the body, until Dean wondered if he'd zoned again and touched him gently on the arm.

"Sir, we need to decide."

Cas looked at him, helplessly. "I just don't know."

"We have two options -- well, three. We can leave her here just as she is and drive off. That's the safest option, but looking at your face I'm guessing that's not what you want to do. Secondly, we can try to bury her -- but that will take a lot of time that we can't spare and we could end up captured again. Thirdly, we can wrap her in the tarpaulin and try and fit her in the back seat of the jeep, but you would have to be prepared for the chance that we may have to abandon her later."

Cas' blue eyes just looked at him, and Dean sighed. God save him from officers who flaked when they should be leading. And from officers who looked like they were about to cry. People with big blue eyes like that shouldn't cry -- it stirred up Dean's protective instincts and made him want to do silly things, like give the man a hug.

When Cas still made no reply he heaved another sigh and went to get the tarpaulin. He was getting too damned sentimental in his old age.

It took more time that he liked to get Anna rolled up in the tarp and hauled onto the jeep's tray, even with Cas doing most of the work. Luckily the night had been cool enough that rigor hadn't progressed much past the face, so they had little difficulty in bending her limbs to fit inside the vehicle. Dean steadfastly ignored the grisly prospect of removing her at the end of the journey.

Once all their gear was stowed in the jeep Dean eased himself into the passenger seat. Cas was checking their position against a map he'd found in the glove box.

"Are we lost?"

"Not precisely. I know where we are and I know where we need to go, but I'm not sure what's between those two points. I was hoping the map would help, but of course it's in Croatoan and I don't read Cyrillic characters very well."

"Well don't look at me, I barely read English."

"Somehow I think that's an exaggeration, but no matter." He sighed. "Anna was the one who was good at languages."

"I guess we're fucked then."

"We are not _fucked_. I will manage. We need to head south-west, towards the coast. I'll try to keep an eye out for other vehicles, and of course I'll hear anything approaching, but if you see anything yourself, let me know.

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't have to call me sir with every second breath. I'm Cas."

"You're an officer, sir, I'm just an E6."

"When we're back on base you stick to the regulations. Right now we're just two soldiers in enemy territory, and I'm not going to spend what may be my last hours being addressed as 'sir'. Call me Cas or I'll report you for insubordination."

It was a poor attempt at humor, but since it was the most animated Cas had been since he'd come out of his trance, Dean had to grin, no matter how much it hurt. "Roger that, sir -- Cas."

"Good."

"I'm Dean."

Cas smiled. "Good to meet you, Dean." He put out his hand.

Dean tapped it with his bandaged fist.

Cas shook his head. "Sorry."

"It's cool, man."

Cas started the jeep and they made their way slowly back to the main road and turned west.

Now that Cas seemed to have recovered his wits -- more or less -- Dean tried to rest. Unfortunately, between the jeep's suspension and the rough state of the roads, it was a vain effort, and he soon found himself alternating between leaning forward and leaning to the side, changing every few minutes. There was no respite from the pain in either position.

Progress was very slow, since Cas stopped at every rise to check the terrain and the sky. As he had expected, there was more traffic that day as the search for the missing prisoner widened. They hid for two hours under the space blanket while a helo did grid runs, only venturing out an hour after it had left. Then a three-car patrol caused them to lose more time while they hid in a pine plantation, only venturing out after Cas had done a reconnaissance on foot. On that occasion Dean had been told to wait by the jeep, but had fallen asleep. When he woke alone he'd become anxious and had ventured after Cas, to find him zoned again, staring at the sky. It took him several minutes to bring him out if it, and by the time Cas had recovered enough to drive the Jeep, Dean was so exhausted and ill that he slept while the vehicle was moving.

He woke in the late afternoon to find that they had stopped in another wood. Cas was studying the map intently. "If my calculations are correct," he said, "we're only about fifteen kilometers from the base. Unfortunately there seem to be several civilian settlements around here. I think we'd be better off staying here the night and then making a fast run for it tomorrow morning."

"Any phone signal?"

"I'll check once it's full dark. No point now, too much interference."

"Will the Jeep make it?"

"I'm not sure. I hope so, I don't think you'll make it on foot."

"Me neither. Cas, I have to tell you ... I feel like shit, man.

"You don’t look well. You should drink some more water."

"I'll just throw it up."

"You need to drink. When did you last urinate?"

Dean stared up at him. "Did you just say urinate?"

"Yes, it is the correct medical term."

"I'm sure it is, but we aren't in a hospital. I last _took a pis_ s this morning."

"That was twelve hours ago."

"No kidding."

Cas came over and examined him, looking at his skin, his eyes, his lips ... and under other circumstances Dean might have found that either embarrassing or exciting, but right now he hadn't even the energy to push him away. He watched him pinch the skin on the back of his hand. It stayed up in a peak for more than a second before slowly collapsing.

"You are approximately five per cent dehydrated, possibly more," Cas pronounced. His voice was even more dark and deep than usual.

"Five percent's not much. That's what, half a liter? Less?"

"Not five percent of your plasma, five percent of your entire body fluid -- around four liters. Essential body functions will be compromised if you don’t rehydrate soon. There's one liter of saline left in the medical kit -- if you can't drink I'll have to try and get an IV line in."

Dean looked at his hand. The veins that usually stood out on the back were flat and almost invisible. "Good luck with that," he muttered.

"Then you'd better drink." Cas patted him on the shoulder and picked up the canteen of water. "I added a little beverage powder -- it'll taste better than plain water and you could do with the sugar."

Dean accepted the canteen and took a mouthful of the liquid. He had to admit it was definitely better than the plain water but he still felt a little nauseated as it went down. "Thanks," he muttered. "I'll try to drink more."

"Good." Cas smiled and him, and Dean felt absurdly happy. "And here's some Tylenol for the pain and the fever."

Dean obediently swallowed the tablets but he figured he was heading past the point where Tylenol could help. "Is there anything stronger in that medical kit?"

"Not much. It's mainly dressings and IV fluids. There is one morphine syringe left."

"You have morphine? Why didn't you tell me?"

Cas gave him that odd, intense stare, before saying, "Because there is only one left, and I suspect you're going to need it tomorrow more than tonight."

"But I'm in pain now."

"And you'll still be in pain tomorrow and we may have to move fast and on foot."

Dammit, he couldn't even argue with that logic. It didn't make him any more comfortable now though.

He struggled through the evening -- Cas made him take some more tablets, which helped a little but he was still in a lot of discomfort, and he was developing a fever. Even the space blanket couldn't stop him shivering. He was so fucking exhausted all he wanted to do was sleep but Cas had been up as long as he had, and it wasn't fair to make him do all the watchkeeping.

After checking the phones again -- still no signal -- Cas finally noticed that he was struggling and came over. "Sleep, Dean," he ordered, his voice as dark and mysterious as the night. "I'll wake if anyone comes near us."

"Not sure I can sleep. So damn cold."

Cas put a hand on his forehead. "You're still feverish." He handed over a couple more tablets -- not Tylenol this time, something stronger -- and then lay down beside him. Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to snuggle up or spoon or just lie still, but Cas made it easy by sliding an arm under his shoulder and pulling him in, letting the blanket fall over them both. Lying half on his side and half sprawled over Cas' chest could have been very embarrassing if it weren't definitely the most comfortable position Dean had been in for days. He fell asleep before he could even say thank you.

~~~~~

The next morning he didn't so much wake up as emerge slowly and grudgingly from unconsciousness. Cas had obviously woken first and was several meters away, carrying two sloshing water canteens.

"Drink," he ordered, twisting the cap open on one and holding it out to Dean.

"You put any flavoring in?" he asked, sitting up and feeling all the scabs on his back crack and pull.

"Two purification tablets and a flavor sachet."

Well that sounded gross, but there wasn't any alternative. Dean took a swig and forced it down, but it tasted like flavored swimming-pool water and he had to fight the urge to vomit. If his stomach had been stronger he would have chugged the whole canteen and let his gut fight it out but he couldn't risk that with their limited supply. He'd just have to keep sipping the revolting stuff and hope that it stayed down. At least it kept his mouth from drying out too much.

He drew the line at eating. Cas gave him more painkillers but he really couldn't face another vacuum-packed meal.

"Seriously, man, I have no appetite. I'll only throw up -- if I don't already from the water."

"You need to eat something. It will help the painkillers get absorbed."

Dean sighed. "Do any of the rat packs have dry crackers? I think that's all I could keep down."

"I don't think so -- but there are some plain oatmeal cookies."

"Yeah, that'll have to do."

He ate the two cookies slowly, forcing each mouthful down with some water. He knew he was dehydrated -- worse than yesterday -- but there was no way he was going to be able to drink enough to fix that. He'd just have to hope that they made it to the base today and that the doctors could get a line in.

He ached all over, his fever was getting worse and he had no energy to move. He prayed that the jeep wouldn't run out of fuel because there was no way he was going to be able to walk any distance.

Cas refilled the canteens and got him back into the jeep shortly afterwards. Dean struggled to stay alert but even with the jeep's appalling suspension he found himself drifting off again and again.

The jeep ran out of fuel about an hour later. Cas sighed and steered for the edge of the road as the engine spluttered.

Dean got out and leaned against the vehicle. They were in a valley, which wasn't great, and there was no convenient ditch or stand of trees in which to conceal the jeep. He looked at the tarpaulin-wrapped bundle on the tray and made a mental apology to Anna.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

Cas lifted his gear out and started sorting through it. "One of the phones has two bars and a quarter charge left. I'll try to get a message to HQ. If not, we'll have to make a run for it."

"Oh, great."

"I'm sorry, but the only alternative is for me to leave you here, run there myself and try to get back with transport before the next Croatoan vehicle comes along."

"You should do that. You've got a much better chance of getting back alone."

Cas just shook his head. He tried the phone, first voice and then text, leaving messages on half a dozen numbers. After waiting half an hour they had to accept that they weren't going to get a response any time soon.

"If we're still out here tonight I'll try again," he sighed, putting the phone back into flight mode.

"You should go on alone," Dean said.

"No. I'm not leaving you. We'll manage. If we stick close to the trees we should be able to hide from any passing vehicles."

"I'll slow you up so much it's ridiculous."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"Cas, honestly, I'm not sure I can get that far."

"You can and you will."

Dean just looked at him wearily. Implacable determination was hard to argue with, but it really didn't have the same motivational effect as a screaming drill instructor.

Cas spoke. "Listen, we'll make it together, even if I have to carry you. Understand? I'm not leaving you behind. Trust me, we'll get there."

"OK." Dean straightened up. "What do you want me to carry?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, man you can't take everything yourself."

"Your back wouldn't take a webbing belt, let alone a pack."

Dean had to concede that point. His back had oozed so much over the last twenty four hours that his shirt was more or less glued to the skin, and the stream they'd camped next to hadn't been flowing fast enough for Cas to allow him to soak it off. The burn on his temple had been dry for the last twelve hours only because it had built up a thick scab that pulled every time Dean moved his jaw.

Cas held up a syringe. "I think it's time for that last morphine shot."

"Yeah. Good luck getting my shirt off."

"Hmm." Cas regarded the shirt for a moment, then grabbed his knife and cut a small hole in the sleeve over the deltoid muscle of his shoulder. He enlarged it enough to be able to clean the skin with a swab and then injected Dean with the morphine.

"I think you're in enough pain that this isn't going to make you sleepy, but if you need to rest just tell me."

"Sure."

They set off towards the base, keeping to the trees, hiding whenever Cas said there was a vehicle approaching. It was slow going, heavy going, and Dean was already at the end of his strength. His pace became slower and slower until he was lagging a fair way behind.

"Come on Dean, keep moving."

"I'm moving."

"Faster."

"With all due respect, sir, I really don't think I can." He was swaying and the bright daylight was hurting his eyes. 

"OK." Cas clipped his rifle to his tac vest and took Dean's right arm, draping it over his own shoulder and taking a good percentage of his weight. It wasn't that comfortable, and it made walking awkward, but Dean figured it was about as good as it was going to get.

He zoned out after a while, his whole world reduced to the feeling of Cas next to him, the sun on his back and the ever-present pain. He was starting to feel as if he wasn't really connected to his body anymore. He had a vague idea that that it wasn't a good sign, but he hadn't the energy to think about it. As long as his feet were moving, that was the main thing. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. There was word for it, the rhythm that feet made on the ground. Cay-something. Left foot, right foot. Cadence, that was the word he was looking for. Left foot, right foot. On and on and on.

Time passed.

Cas stopped suddenly, jarring Dean out of his ... whatever it was.

"Huh?"

"I think we're in luck. I can see two of our APCs coming up the road."

"You sure they're ours?" His voice was barely a whisper, but Cas heard him.

"I'm sure. It's our vehicle build and camo pattern, anyway."

"Think they'll stop for hitch-hikers? Or just shoot on sight?"

"I think they'll stop long enough for me to talk to them."

"OK. You talk. I'll just sit here."

He sank down onto the ground, glad of the chance to rest. His head was muzzy and floaty, he hurt all over -- well, that was pretty much situation normal now -- and his mouth was as dry as an ashcan. Cas was right, he was getting more dehydrated by the hour.

The vehicles pulled up about twenty meters away, and two soldiers got out of each, aiming their rifles at them. Cas approached them slowly, holding out his empty hands. Dean only half-listened to the rapid-fire exchange of ID and Cas' brief statement of what had happened, and then there were people running towards him and strong hands hauling him up. Unfortunately the hand were also pressing on his burns, and he cried out.

"Be careful!" Cas told them. "Dean was one of the group we went in to retrieve. He has extensive burns on his back."

"Sorry, sir," one of them said. He was pulled up a little more gently and escorted to the vehicle.

They gave him water -- cool, sweet water; he was never going to take it for granted again -- and an energy bar.

"Can't eat," he muttered, pushing it away. "I'll just puke."

The group didn't have a medic so the platoon leader -- a shiny new lieutenant -- ordered an immediate return to base.

"I could call for a medevac," he explained, "but honestly, we could be back in base by the time they got the flight authorized."

"Good call," Cas agreed. "Is there a chance you could send a team about five kilometers further up the road? We had to abandon the jeep when it ran out of fuel, and my sister's body is in it."

"I'll have to clear it with base, sir," said the lieutenant. "I'll try, but I can't guarantee they'll authorize it."

"I understand. I can tell you where the helo was when it crashed, too."

"No need, sir. We found the helo two days ago. The site had already been picked clean by the Croatoans, though. We've been looking for you ever since. Just weren't sure where you were headed."

"Progress was slow. We made for the woods immediately, of course. They had search parties out yesterday but we managed to evade them. We're lucky that they didn't set up roadblocks."

"We've seen a lot of patrols the last two days but no static positions -- well, we'd just have bombed the shit out of them anyway."

His attention was claimed by the comms operator. "Sir, HQ acknowledged message, concur with return to base."

"Great. OK, men, back to base. Chang, ride in the other vehicle."

"Yes, sir."

Dean settled onto the back seat next to Cas while the vehicles turned slowly and headed up the rise. It was warm in the vehicle but the morphine was wearing off and while the suspension was better in the APC than in the jeep, it still wasn't a comfortable ride.

"So, what happened out there?" asked the lieutenant. "Where are the others?"

Well, shit. That was the last thing Dean wanted to think about right now. There was a lot that Dean hadn't told Cas yet, and Cas knew that. And while Cas could report on everything that had happened in the last two days, he didn't know how the others had died, and he didn't know what information had been given to the Croatoans. Only Dean had that knowledge, which meant that he had to make a basic report.

On top of that, his strength was fading fast, and once they got to base he'd be handed over to the medical teams, and with any luck they'd pump him full of enough morphine to keep him under for a week. It was probably the only chance he had to pass on information for a while. Not to mention the fact that he was so sick he might not actually make it out the other side.

"I'm not sure this is the time --" began Cas.

"No, he's right," said Dean. "I need to debrief to you guys, just in case I don't make it through the next few days or the docs sedate me too much to talk."

"You'll make it."

"I've got infected burns and broken bones, maybe internal bleeding too. I may not make it. I'll definitely be out of it for a while."

Cas looked almost affronted at the suggestion, but the lieutenant nodded, getting out his smart phone and setting it on record. "OK, tell us what happened. And make it short."

"OK. Short version -- you know we were ambushed, right?"

"Yeah, we found the vehicles. And the bodies."

"The rest of us got taken to this camp. There were four of us. Nothing much happened first couple of days -- standard interrogation, nothing more than we expected. Food and water provided in limited quantities. They didn't let us sleep much -- rattled on the doors every time they changed shift, but that was all. Day three it all changed. Some big guy came from the capital, name of Alistair. He was different: brutal, focused, loved his work. Lieutenant Fletcher died that day -- I think he killed himself somehow, from what the guy said. Lieutenant Jackson and Corporal Ponzi died the next day. I witnessed their deaths. I'm the only one who survived long enough to be rescued."

"Do you know what information the officers gave up?"

"Not entirely, sir, I wasn't present for Lieutenant Fletcher's interrogation or Lieutenant Jackson's first session. But Jackson broke the session I was there."

"What did she tell him?"

"He wanted to know where we took the prisoners and equipment from Maykop. Something about a vault. I don't know, it didn't make any sense to me."

"She told him?"

"She said the officers had been shipped out to Germany already, the enlisteds were being processed locally."

"Anything else?"

"Satellite stuff -- access codes, timings ... it sounded like gibberish. I've no idea if what she said was accurate."

"Which satellite?"

"Some alphanumeric designation. Sorry, I really wasn't concentrating on her right then."

"Why not?'

 _Why not?_ Dean glared at the officer with every ounce of energy he had left. What sort of stupid fucking question was that? Because one of Alistair's men had been shoving his --

"What he means is that he was being tortured himself at that point," Cas broke in, and Dean could just about have kissed him for it. "It's hard to hear when you're screaming."

"Oh." The lieutenant looked suitably chastened. But he still asked, "And what did you tell him?"

"He was really keen on finding those prisoners. I told him where the lock-up was at the base. He wanted to know the access codes but I didn't know them." He swallowed. He didn't really want to think of Alistair's response when he'd said that. "After that he switched to general security stuff -- patrol schedules, radio frequencies, call signs."

"Oh, great. That's going to make the boss happy."

Dean hung his head. Cas patted his arm gently; it was a welcome and reassuring gesture and Dean smiled at him from under his lashes, feeling it pull on the scab over his temple. Cas smiled back and Dean was struck by an urge to rest his head on Cas' shoulder. He restrained himself, but he couldn't help turning his arm and rubbing his thumb along Cas' hand.

"Why didn't he kill you too?" asked the lieutenant.

"He was going to, eventually. He said he wanted to take his time with me. He said ... he said I was a better opponent. Stronger. Would last longer." He swallowed. "He said he could make me last a week or two, that I'd be begging for death by the end of it. I don't even think he cared if I talked or not ... he was just enjoying it."

"Fuck," breathed the lieutenant.

"Yeah, that too," Dean said, trying to make a joke of it.

"I think that's enough for now," said Cas gravely, his hand still comfortingly warm on Dean's arm. 

"Yeah, I think so." The lieutenant switched off the recording.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned against Cas. Now that he was safe, the adrenaline that had sustained him for the last hour was ebbing fast. He felt exhausted -- more than he'd ever been before, even in basic training.

He could hear the lieutenant whispering to Cas. "There's more he's not telling us."

"There always is," murmured Cas.

"He broke."

Cas paused for several long seconds, and said, "Wouldn’t you? I know I would."

"Maybe. But we only have his word for what happened. What if the others are still alive?"

"My team found no trace of the others in the cells. It was not a large camp. There was at least one new grave that I could identify, and it could easily have held more than one body. I believe that he is the only survivor."

"Shit."

Dean was glad his eyes were already closed and that Cas was shielding him from the others in the vehicle. He really didn't want to see their faces. He knew he'd fucked up; he knew that in the end he was no better than the Fonz; poor stupid Ponzi who'd already maxed out at corporal and who'd died with a whimper and charred holes where his eyes used to be. Fletcher had done the right thing and killed himself before he could reveal anything ... but Fletcher was dead and Dean was alive and on his way home, so how the fuck could Fletcher have done the right thing if doing the wrong thing kept you alive?

Exhaustion was really overwhelming him now, and Dean slumped against Cas, who held him close. He was so glad that Cas hadn't drawn away after his confession, so glad that he could still feel the man's warmth. It would have to stop when they got back to base, of course, when the sheer disparity of rank would keep them apart, but for the moment he was going to take advantage of every moment they could be together.

They arrived at the base only twenty minutes later, and were taken straight to the medical tent. Dean dutifully provided his name, rank and service number, and Cas provided a potted medical history of the last few days. Some ace of a junior medical officer managed to get an IV line in his arm on her second try, which was a real bonus. After taking what Dean thought was an excessively large amount of blood out she hooked up a bag of normal saline.

"I don't need to wait for the bloods to know you're severely dehydrated. I'm going to run some fluids in fairly fast and we'll see how you go over the next three hours. When did you last urinate?"

Cas smirked at him over the doctor's shoulder, which Dean thought was really unfair, before answering the question for him. "Yesterday afternoon. And there wasn't much."

"Do you feel like going now?" asked the doctor.

Dean shook his head.

"Try anyway, we want to get a baseline."

"OK."

"Now, I'll need to get look at the back." The doctor reached forward to try and push the shirt away from his shoulders.

Cas stepped in immediately. "You'll need to soak it off," he said, lifting a hand as if to ward off any attempt to touch the shirt. "It's adherent to the burnt skin. The back was washed once and antiseptic ointment applied, but after that we had no water clean enough to risk it."

The doctor straightened up, saying, "OK, we can soak it off." She paused, then said. "Is there anything you need to report? Because we're probably going to have to sedate you to clean up your back and set your fingers." 

Dean and Cas exchanged a look. Then Cas said, "A preliminary report was made on the way in. A formal debrief can probably wait a few days until he's in better health."

"Excellent. I'll set up a morphine drip then, and I'll get you something to make you relax."

"I can manage without a sedative." Now that they were back on base Dean had a sudden premonition that they were going to take Cas away while he was asleep, and he really didn't want that.

Cas took his chin and turned his face so they were eye to eye. "You'll take the sedative, Dean. You need it."

"Stay with me?" he asked in a low voice. He hated feeling so unsettled, but after being alone with Cas for two days he found the prospect of being separated almost unbearable. Part of his mind knew he was being absurd, but he felt so bad that the rest of him just didn't care.

"I'll be right here with you." Cas' hand on his arm tightened and Dean nodded. He could trust Cas.

"OK then."

He watched the doctor push the sedative into the cannula, and then the world fell away.


	2. Interlude (Sam, Gabriel and Balthazar)

_Friday 04 June 2010_

The phone was ringing as he entered the office, and Sam's heart rate spiked, as it had every time the phone had rung since the previous Friday. "Winchester," he announced, curtly, hoping that this time it was the call he had been hoping for.

"Is that Agent Samuel Winchester?"

"Yes."

"This is Maria Gomez at the Armed Forces Welfare Organization, Mr Winchester. I'm happy to tell you that your brother, Staff Sergeant Dean Winchester, has been located."

Sam felt all the weight of the world slide away from him. "Oh, thank God," he said, slumping down in his seat. "Is he all right? Is he injured?"

"His condition is described as seriously ill. He has significant injuries and was very dehydrated, but he's under medical care now. I can't tell you his exact location, but he is in an Army hospital."

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw Gabe hurrying into the office.

"Can you elaborate on his condition?"

"I'm sorry, I don't have any further information at this time. We'll probably get an update in the morning."

"What about Anna and Castiel Milton? They were missing too."

"I'm sorry, I can't give out information on any other personnel."

"But my partner Gabe is their cousin."

"I'm sorry, Mr Winchester, but our rules are very strict. I am only authorized to give you information on your brother."

Gabe took the phone from him. "Hello, Ms ... Gomez, right. This is Gabriel Alighieri. Marsha Patterson phoned me Tuesday night to tell me that my cousins Castiel and Anna Milton were missing in the same area as Dean Winchester. Do you have any update on them? ... Fine, ring me back if you must, but I can assure you I'm who I say I am."

He slammed the phone down and turned back to Sam. "Stupid fucking Army and its stupid fucking rules!"

"Hey, don't stress. She'll ring you back in a moment."

Gabe's desk phone started to ring at that moment and Sam tried to give his partner his most encouraging smile as Gabe leaned over and grabbed the handset. "Agent Alighieri, Ms Gomez, as promised. I trust that now you'll give me the information I wanted?"

Whatever Ms Gomez said next, it made Gabe turn pale, and he leaned back against the desk. "I'm sitting down. What is it?"

Sam scrambled up so that he could get his ear next to the handset, which Gabe obligingly held away from his ear. He strained to hear the next words.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you that Major Hanael Milton was badly injured in action on Tuesday June first and died of her wounds the following day. Major Castiel Milton is uninjured but is suffering from a severe bereavement reaction and has been admitted to hospital. His condition is described as stable."

"Where are they now?" asked Gabe.

"Major Castiel Milton is in an Army hospital. Major Hanael Milton's body has been retrieved and will be returned to the United States in due course."

Sam said, "This is Sam Winchester, Ms Gomez. Can you tell us if Castiel and Dean are in the same hospital?"

"Officially I can't tell you that and I can't be absolutely sure, but all three signals originated from the same unit, so my assumption is that they are."

"Can we fly over there?" asked Gabe.

"Not to the area of operations, no. In cases like this it's usual for patients to be evacuated to the combined forces hospital in Germany and we would fly you there. I may have more information on that later today, but more likely tomorrow."

"You have our home number, don't you?"

"Yes, I do, and I have both your cell phone numbers as well. I or one of my colleagues will definitely call you as soon as we have any more news."

"Thank you."

Gabe replaced the handset -- firmly, but not quite as hard as he had slammed Sam's phone -- and looked up at his guide. Sam put his arms around his sentinel and held him close. It felt so unfair that his brother lived while Gabe's cousin was dead, but there was nothing he could do to change that. All he could do was to support his partner and help him to grieve.

Gabe, however, was focusing on practical matters for the moment. "I guess we'd better talk to the boss and tell him we'll need some personal time," he said with a sigh.

Sam grimaced. They were in the middle of a complex investigation involving a Mexican drug cartel and its supply lines to four states, and their task force supervisor was an irascible man who didn't take kindly to anything that disturbed his plans. "Coffee run first?"

"Coffee, donuts and chocolate brownies."

"Good plan."

~~~~~~

 _Sunday 06 June_

At dawn two days later Sam and Gabe arrived in West Germany. They were met by an AFWO liaison officer and escorted first to their hotel and then to the large military hospital known as the Lazarett, where Dean and Castiel had been flown the day before. There they were split up, Gabe heading to the psychiatric ward and Sam to the burns unit.

Dr Banks, Dean's physician, was a gruff man in his fifties. He gave Sam a quick summary of the injuries diagnosed on admission -- which made Sam feel ill just hearing about them second-hand -- and went into more detail about the treatment so far and what was planned for the next few weeks.

"I think we've managed to avoid renal failure," concluded Dr Banks, "but otherwise our main concern is the large burn on his back. The infection is responding to the antibiotics, though, so unless something deteriorates in the meantime I think that we'll be able to apply the skin graft on Tuesday. After that, I'll ask one of the orthopedic surgeons to look at his fingers -- I suspect that some of them will need corrective surgery, but obviously they were a relatively low priority when he came in."

"What about the psychological trauma?" asked Sam.

"Well, we haven't been able to assess that yet -- every time we try to wean him off sedation he becomes very agitated. We were warned by his forward unit not to try manual restraints because of his ordeal, so that limits our options. Now that you're here, I'll reduce the dose again and we'll see how he goes this afternoon and evening. If he isn't too agitated, I'll get a psych consult arranged as soon as possible."

"Thanks."

Before he was allowed into Dean's room, Sam was briefed on infection control procedures and was made to don protective clothing which covered him from head to toe, leaving only his eyes exposed. He could feel himself starting to sweat already, but he resisted the urge to pull off the mask and gloves: he wasn't going to gamble with his brother's health after so nearly losing him.

Although he'd been warned, Sam's first sight of Dean was still a shock, and he was glad that his brother was unconscious and couldn't see Sam's dismay at seeing him so helpless. The majority of Dean's wounds weren't visible -- for which Sam was very grateful -- but his back and one side of his face were covered in wet gauze and both hands were bulky with splints. He had an IV line in each arm, a nasogastric tube taped to his cheek, and a catheter drainage tube snaking out from under the sheet that covered his legs. He was face-down, of course, and from the pinched look and slight twitching that Sam could see, he looked like he was in pain.

The nurse who had escorted Sam in noted that too, and adjusted one of the drips.

"It's morphine and midazolam," she explained. "We've had him sedated because he keeps trying to get out of bed."

"Yeah, the doctor explained that He said he'd be adjusting the dose, though, now that I'm here -- I can probably calm him down if he gets agitated."

"OK, I'll go and check what's on the chart."

Left alone, Sam dragged over the single plastic chair and sat down beside the bed. It was very warm in the isolation room and Sam could feel himself start to sweat.

At least Dean seemed more comfortable, settling down as the drug took effect. The bed was obviously designed for people who had to lie on their stomachs, as it had a padded hole for Dean's face, and a mirror on the floor through which Sam could see him and, eventually, interact with him. For now, though, Sam just sat and watched his brother breathe.

The smaller IV bag was replaced with another, by the same nurse as before, who explained that it contained the same amount of morphine but less midazolam. "He should start to come round in an hour or two. The midazolam may make him appear a little drunk, but he should be able to recognize you. If he gets agitated please press the buzzer immediately." She indicated the red call button pinned to the sheets at Dean's left hand.

"Thanks, I'll do that."

He sat there for a quarter of an hour, just watching Dean breathe, but was roused out of his reverie by a knock at the door. Gabriel's face was peering through the inset window. With a last look at Dean -- who was still sleeping relatively peacefully -- he pushed the chair back and went to see his partner. He pulled the mask off with some relief as he hit the cooler air outside the isolation room.

"What's up? How's Cas?"

"Still unresponsive. I had to get out of there, it was starting to get creepy."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, sugar. How's Dean?"

Sam shrugged. "Still unconscious. They've reduced his sedation so he should wake up sometime today, but I almost don't want him to."

"Bad?"

"Yeah. I mean, he's all bandaged up so I can't see much, but he looks so ... so _helpless_." That was what was upsetting him -- Dean was never helpless, he was always doing something, taking action, fighting whatever had to be fought. Seeing him so still, so passive, made Sam feel as if the whole universe was out of kilter.

"It'll be OK, Sam. Dean's strong, he'll make it."

Sam nodded, and then asked, "When does SGINA get here?"

Gabe rolled his eyes. "Can you believe they hadn't notified the Institute?"

"What? But it's mandatory!"

"I know. But it seems that they forgot to do it at the first hospital, because Cas was OK at first and then agitated. I actually rang SGINA myself, and they only just got the notification of Anna's death, because of course it's the weekend, and they were trying to find Cas and couldn't get hold of anyone who knew where he was ... God, what a mess."

"Typical clusterfuck, then."

"Yeah. But they'll send someone over as soon as they can -- probably tomorrow, might be Tuesday."

"Good."

They stood there in the corridor for a couple more minutes, Gabriel leaning against Sam, until he straightened up and said. "Well, I'd better get back up to Cas."

"Yeah, I expect Dean will be waking up soon, and I'd like to be there."

"If there's no change with Cas, I'll come down around lunchtime."

"OK."

They exchanged a brief kiss and Gabriel left. 

Sam put on a new set of protective gear and returned to Dean's room. As the doctor and nurse had predicted, Dean was starting to move a little in the bed. Nothing much else happened for another hour, though, then Dean started to become much more agitated, moaning and moving his eyes back and forth under his eyelids.

Sam watched him with increasing anxiety, until he couldn't tolerate it any longer and gently shook Dean's shoulder. 

Dean gave a half-terrified yelp and opened his eyes. He tried to raise himself off the bed, but immediately gasped at the pain from his broken hands.

Sam leaned forward, and their eyes met through the mirror. "Dean, it's OK, you're safe."

"Sam?" Dean's voice was barely a whisper. "Is it really you?"

"Yes. Man, you had me so worried."

"Sorry."

"You want some water?"

"Yeah, that would be good."

Sam held a beaker with a straw under his mouth. Dean took a large sip, grimacing as he swallowed over the tube.

"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?"

Dean hesitated for a moment and took another sip of water. "Not quite pain, just a lot of discomfort. They must have me on the good stuff."

"They do."

"Where am I again?"

"Lazerett, in Germany."

"Oh, yeah." He frowned. "I kind of remember getting here, but it all seems unreal." His glance fell on his own reflection, and he asked, "Did I lose the eye?"

"No, the eye is fine -- no damage at all. It's just covered because of the burn on your temple."

"Thank God."

"What else?"

"I thought they'd told you this already?"

Dean frowned. "If they did, I don't remember."

"Well, they said you’d been heavily sedated."

"Feels like I've been out cold for a month."

"Just a few days."

"So what did the doctors tell you?"

"That you're lucky to be alive."

"Yeah, figured that." The words were blunt and the tone flat.

Too late, Sam realized that his statement could have been misinterpreted. "I meant because of the infection. You were really, really sick, Dean. They've got you on every antibiotic known to man at the moment."

"Huh." Dean didn't seem too worried about that, but then he'd always been cavalier about his own health.

"Apart from that, though ... you have multiple fractures in the hands -- they're splinted for the moment but they may go in and operate later if they don't heal straight. The cracked ribs are healing. The rectal tears were sutured. They were worried about your kidneys but they seem to be improving now they've got you rehydrated. Your back was the worst -- that's why you're in isolation. The doctor said you had extensive partial thickness burns and that was where the infection got in so they had to take most of the skin off to get it down to a clean base. That was before you were transferred out."

"Yeah, I kinda remember that."

"Do you remember fighting them?" he asked. "The doctor said you kept trying to get out of bed -- they were afraid you were going to hurt yourself more."

"Kinda. They strapped me down. That was bad. Made me think of ..." He started to breathe fast, and the look on his face was not one that Sam ever wanted to see again. There were bruises around each wrist, yellow at the edges, and Sam could imagine how hard Dean had struggled against his captors.

He patted Dean reassuringly on the shoulder, above the dressing. "Hey, it's OK. You're safe now."

Dean nodded. "Yeah ... yeah, I know."

Sam kept his had moving in slow, soothing circles until Dean calmed and his breathing returned to normal. He offered more water, but Dean shook his heading, asking, "How's Cas? Major Milton, I mean. The sentinel who got me out. Do you know how he is?"

"He isn't well. Gabe is with him -- did you know they were cousins?"

"No. Are they really? He said he didn't have any family."

"Yeah, his parents are assholes and so are his brothers and sisters, but Gabe talks to him occasionally. He's pretty cut up about Anna."

"Can I see him?"

"Gabe?"

"Ca-- Major Milton."

"Not right now. He's ... he's not doing so well."

That got Dean's attention. "What happened? I thought he was getting better. God, he was practically carrying me when we got picked up."

"Yeah, he went catatonic in the hospital. Bond shock."

Dean looked devastated. "Again? I thought ..."

"Hey, it was only to be expected. His guide died suddenly, he was bound to be severely affected."

"Yeah, but ... How long?" 

"Since Anna died, idiot."

"No, how long is it since we got back to the base?"

"Three days."

"Three days ... Shit, has he been in shock all that time?"

"Of course he has."

"Can I see him? I could help him."

"No, it's OK. They're flying in someone from the Institute to evaluate him. I know it's late, but apparently they got their wires crossed and no one notified the Institute until we got here."

"Sam, seriously -- I have to see him."

"Maybe in a few days, once your skin has healed. You're in isolation, remember."

"Fuck, you don't understand. I _need_ to see him. I can help him, I know I can. I brought him out of bond shock in Croatoa -- four or five times, at least. He was getting better."

"What? But they said it was a delayed reaction -- he managed to hold it off until getting you back to the hospital, then collapsed."

"Delayed, my ass," Dean snorted. "He zoned out the moment his sister died. I don't know how long he'd been zoned when I woke up, but it took me over an hour to get him out."

"But ..." That made no sense. Bereavement shock in a sentinel was notorious for being the deepest and most difficult to recover from, and the faster the onset, the longer it took to recover. Everyone knew that. That's why SGINA insisted on being notified as soon as a sentinel or guide was killed, so that they could send someone over with the necessary equipment. If Cas had zoned out the moment his guide had died, then he should have remained there, motionless and insensate, until basic physical needs overrode his grief, which could easily have been a day or two later. Sam had read of cases where sentinels had actually died without coming out of bereavement shock.

To Dean, he said, "That's fast for an acute grief reaction."

"Felt like forever to me. The others weren't as bad."

"He zoned again?"

"Yeah, a few times, but by the time we got picked up he was pretty normal. I don't think he zoned at all the last day ... well, he can't have, because I was in no condition to bring him out by then. I figured he'd be OK once we got back to base."

"You brought him out of bond shock and he was acting normally within three days," Sam repeated. He was still trying to make sense of what Dean had said.

"Yeah. That's what I was supposed to do, wasn't it? I can't say I was thinking all that clearly, but I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You were definitely doing the right thing." There was a germ of an idea in his head -- an idea that might explain the odd history and the discrepancy between the story they'd been told by the doctors and the one given by Dean. Sam looked thoughtful, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "You really have to ask me that?"

"No, I mean, how do you feel inside? Calm, happy, angry, frustrated?"

"I don't know. Kind of frustrated, I guess. Sort of ... twitchy."

"Twitchy?"

"Yeah. Like ... like there's something I need to do and I can't do it. Like there's something under my skin, sort of shimmering or humming or something. I don't know if it's a side-effect from one of the drugs but it feels really unpleasant. Not hurting, just ... unpleasant."

"Interesting."

"What's interesting?"

Sam stood up. "I have to go talk to Gabe for a minute. I'll be back as soon as I can. Don’t go away."

"Yeah, that's real funny, man," Dean managed to reply, but Sam was already on his way out.

Sam shed the protective gear and stuffed it in the large bin outside Dean's room. He viewed the large sweaty patches on his shirt with distaste, but there wasn't anything he could do about that at the moment. He had to find Gabe -- he had to get Gabe's view of what Dean had just told him. If Dean was right, then the situation wasn't nearly as hopeless as the psychiatrist was trying to make out.

He took the lift up three levels and followed the meandering corridor to the psych ward. He showed his ID at the door, explaining that his partner was sitting with a patient. The receptionist phoned someone inside and Gabe appeared a couple of minutes later.

"What's wrong?"

"I need to talk to you. Not here."

"Is Dean all right?"

"Yeah, he's fine. Or he will be, anyway. But ... it's complicated."

Gabe sighed. "Well, it's not like Cas is going to wake up in the next hour. Let's see if we can find some shitty coffee."

"It might be good coffee."

"It’s a hospital. It'll be shitty coffee."

They found the coffee shop in the main foyer and took their drinks out to the small green area outside. As Gabe had predicted, the coffee was awful, but at least it was hot.

"So, Samwise, spill."

Sam rolled his eyes: he hated that nickname. "Dean woke up while I was there. Once I'd managed to reassure him that he didn't lose an eye, he was completely focused on Cas, wanted to know how he was, wanted to see him. You know the doctors said Cas managed to delay his grief reaction?"

"Yeah. I still don't know how he did that."

"He didn't. Dean told me that Cas went into bond shock as soon as Anna died, and it took him about an hour to bring him out."

"What?"

"Yeah. Immediate textbook reaction. But -- get this -- Dean brought him out of that zone, and several more over the next couple of days, and each time it got easier. He says that by the time they were picked up, Cas was fine, not zoning or spiking at all."

"Well, that makes more sense than the 'delayed bond shock' shit they told us yesterday -- although if anyone could manage to put off bond shock by sheer willpower it would be Cas."

"Yeah, and it makes sense that my brother brought him out, given our relationship. But what's even more telling is that Dean is twitchy."

Gabe looked skeptical. "That could be the drugs he's on."

"He's on a morphine and midazolam drip. I don't think his muscles could actually twitch even if he wanted them to. And twitchy is how I feel when I'm not with you."

"It's very non-specific."

"I know, it's circumstantial. But it's a lot of circumstantial."

"You really think they've started to bond?"

"Yes." There was no doubt in Sam's mind whatsoever. He couldn't really explain it to Gabe, not in words, but it was the first time Sam had ever known Dean to be so focused on anyone else.

"Guide instinct?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. But the easiest way to check it is to put them together and see what happens."

"True." Gabe finished his coffee, grimaced, and crushed the cup before lobbing it into a nearby bin. "OK, let's go and talk to the doctors."

~~~

They talked to the doctors. Unsurprisingly, neither the psychiatrist nor the physician was inclined to believe them.

~~~~~

_Monday 07 June 2010 (morning)_

The army driver who was supposed to meet the Institute's representative was sadly easy to distract. Sam "accidentally" tripped over his own feet and brought down several of the waiting drivers with their placards. In the confusion, it was easy for Gabriel to produce his own sign saying "Sentinel & Guide Institute" and walk up to meet the disembarking passengers. By the time Sam had apologized profusely and brushed down all the disgruntled drivers, Gabriel had escorted the representative all the way to the baggage carousel.

Sam hurried to join them. He caught a glimpse of the man's aura and was momentarily puzzled. It was the oddest he had ever seen -- blue-green, mostly, which was fairly good, but very pale, with streaks of something darker. Dark but not evil, he felt.

"This is my guide, Agent Sam Winchester," Gabe said, as he approached. "Sam, this is Balthazar Blake, from SGINA Headquarters in Washington."

"Call me Balthazar." The rep extended his hand.

Sam noted the English accent and shook hands carefully. He had another flash of the man's aura, and got the impression of a deeply buried grief. Well, that would explain the pallor and the dark streaks he'd seen in the aura. Physically, Balthazar was unremarkable -- late forties, tall, thin, blond and pale -- but he had an air of competence about him that was reassuring.

"Thank you for getting here so fast," said Sam. "We really need your help."

Balthazar gave them a wintry smile. "I'll do the best I can. Now why don't you explain to me what is going on and why you don't want me to be driven to the hospital in the army car that was arranged for me."

Sam and Gabe exchanged glances. The man was definitely sharp -- well, even if wasn't a sentinel or a guide himself, he probably knew a great deal about non-verbal communication.

Gabe spoke first. "Well, apart from not actually notifying SGINA when they were supposed to, the doctors at the hospital have absolutely no idea what's going on with my cousin and Sam's brother. They refuse to accept our advice and they won't do anything to help Cas."

"I understand that Major Milton is in bond shock, which is not unexpected given his recent bereavement."

"That's just it," Sam interrupted. "He is in bond shock but we don't think it's because of Anna. Or at least, not just Anna."

Balthazar looked confused. "If it isn't the loss of his guide, then what is it?

Sam looked at Gabe, who nodded at him to continue. "I think Dean -- my brother -- is Cas's guide now. We're both of us pretty sure that they bonded during the trip out of Croatoa, but the doctors insist that either it isn't possible or it's just a traumatic transference problem and hence temporary."

Balthazar pursed his lips. "Well, it would be very unusual for a second bond to form during the bereavement process, but it's not unknown. What evidence do you have for this hypothesis?"

Gabe explained, "Well, we were told initially that Cas had had a delayed reaction -- that he kept himself going after Anna's death until he'd managed to get them back to base, and only went into shock after Dean was in medical care."

"Was that not correct?"

"Not exactly," said Sam. "Dean was brought out of sedation yesterday and told me that Cas actually zoned pretty deep after his sister died. Dean brought him out of that, and several more over the next few days, and Cas was getting better while they were on the run -- much better -- and he became increasingly focused on Dean's condition."

"Everyone agrees that Cas was alert and coherent when they were picked up," added Gabe. "And he insisted that they treat Dean's injuries before his own. That was why they initially thought that Dean was his guide. It was only later, when they had checked Cas's record and separated them that Cas started having problems. When they wouldn't let him back into see Dean he just zoned and couldn't be roused."

"Hence the 'delayed shock' theory," said Sam.

"Hmm," Balthazar mused. "Well, delayed shock has been described -- in the general population as well as in sentinels -- but then, so has emergency bonding. Your explanation would make sense, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes, it would be unusual for a sentinel to have such a severe reaction three days after the loss of a guide ... but a double loss in a short period of time could explain it. Do you have any more substantive evidence to support this hypothesis?"

"Dean is twitchy," said Sam. "He wants to see Cas and he's got that awful frustrated twitchy-under-the-skin feeling I get whenever I'm separated from Gabe too long. They had him restrained and under heavy sedation at first because he kept trying to get out of bed -- I'm sure it was because he had to find Cas."

Gabe nodded, adding, "And Cas has been under sedation since they got to the base because that's standard treatment for a bereaved sentinel. I was told they had to use high doses because the first few hours he was agitated and kept trying to get up. Now ... now he's catatonic."

"Have you tried to get them into the same room?'

"We've tried," Sam said with a sigh. "We've argued till we're blue in the face. But Cas is in the psych ward and Dean is isolation in the burns unit, and they won't move either of them. First they say it's a risk for Dean, because of infection, then they say it's a risk for Cas -- it will only delay the inevitable. Better to let him die in so-called peace."

Gabriel cleared his throat. "I stole a towel after they washed Dean this morning and took it up to Cas's room. He definitely turned his head towards it and his hand twitched. His heart rate increased a little, too."

Balthazar nodded. "Good test. And repeatable, I hope."

"I thought so. Unfortunately Dean's wounds mean he isn't wearing anything and a sheet is a bit big to carry so I haven't been able to get anything else up to Cas."

Sam leaned forward. "So how can we convince the doctors here that Cas and Dean have to be together to heal? Like, today."

"I'll talk to both teams," Balthazar said. "If I agree with you -- and that's not a given -- I'll try and organize a move. If I can't get them to see reason, I'll invoke Institute rights and get them both transferred to the nearest clinic."

"That would probably be easy for Cas -- there isn't much they can do for him here -- but Dean is still having treatment for his injuries. He isn't even a registered guide."

"He'll be in our database. Even if he isn't, I think there is sufficient prima facie evidence to have him treated as a guide." He smiled at them both. "Don't worry. I think this is manageable."

"Thank goodness," said Gabe with a sigh of relief.

"Thank you. Really," Sam added as he put an arm around Gabe.

"This is what I'm here for. Don't worry, I'll do my absolute best to sort it out -- by the end of the day, with a little luck. And I can see an army chap approaching, so I suggest the both of you disappear and let me take the official transport. I'm sure I'll be able to find you at the hospital once I've met the director."

"We'll be there."

~~~~~

Several hours later, Balthazar wasn't quite so sure he was going to be able to fulfil his promise. He had spoken with Major Milton's psychiatrist, Dr Langhorn, and with Staff Sergeant Winchester's physician, Dr Banks. He had also managed to view the field medical reports generated by the unit which had picked them up, and the initial triage assessments done at the forward base medical center. They confirmed what Agents Winchester and Alighieri had told him earlier: that the sentinel had appeared to be functioning normally, though exhausted, at the time of retrieval. No one had questioned his concern for his "guide" until their respective medical records had been pulled up. And since everyone had expected Major Milton to collapse spectacularly, no one had taken the time to investigate why it had taken him so long.

"So," he said, facing the two physicians, trying hard to keep his voice neutral and his expression bland, "let me review this information to make sure that I have the details correct. Major Milton loses his guide while in the company of Staff Sergeant Winchester, who has a high guide potential and whose brother is guide for Agent Alighieri ... who just happens to be Major Milton's cousin. You are aware of the genetic component in sentinel-guide attraction, aren't you? Good. So, according to Staff Sergeant Winchester's account, Major Milton undergoes a textbook reaction to such a traumatic loss, being severely affected in the first twenty-four hours but then gradually improving, and is able to care for Staff Sergeant Winchester, whose physical condition is steadily deteriorating. The soldiers who find them assume that they are a bonded team and keep them close, with the result that Major Milton remains alert and coherent. It's only on arrival at the forward base that they are separated, whereupon Milton zones badly and eventually slips into catatonia and Winchester becomes agitated to the point where he requires sedation. They improve during the flight from Croatoa to here -- when they are in close proximity -- and deteriorate again when they are put in entirely different areas of the hospital. Now, is any of that ringing bells with you?"

"You've been talking to those agents." That was Dr Langhorn, Cas' psychiatrist.

"Yes, I have been talking to those agents, who just happen to be a very competent sentinel and guide team. It's a shame you haven't been listening to them."

"They aren't qualified to make medical decisions. And I think it's highly unlikely that any sentinel could bond properly under such circumstances."

"There are aspects of the sentinel-guide relationship that go far beyond pure medical considerations. There's a reason we insist on the Institute being informed of any death or injury to our people -- our knowledge and experience can help you to help them."

"I'm not convinced that putting them together will help in the long run. Relationships formed under such traumatic conditions aren't stable."

"That's our problem, not yours. And statistics from the Institute show that the risk of early bond deterioration is only slightly higher for those formed in traumatic circumstances. In fact, you'd be surprised how many of our adult sentinels find their guides during times of stress. Nature demands and nature supplies."

Dr Banks -- a gruff man in his fifties -- leaned forward. "I don't want Winchester exposed to infection. He was damned close to septicemia when he arrived at the base and we've only just got his skin cleaned up enough for spraying tomorrow. Once that goes on he'll have to remain in isolation for a further three days at least."

"So disinfect Milton and then put him in the same isolation room. He can stay there until Winchester is ready to leave."

"We can't do that."

"You do it with parents of small children."

"That's different."

"How? The slight increase in physical risk is balanced by the huge emotional and psychological benefit of having someone within touching distance. The same principle applies here."

Dr Banks glared at him.

Dr Langhorn coughed gently and said, "I'm not sure that either of them is in good enough condition to give informed consent to this."

"Really?" Balthazar managed not to roll his eyes, but only by exerting every ounce of self-control. "How fortunate, then, that we have their next of kin here with us."

The looks he got in response should have been lethal. Balthazar just smiled and steepled his fingers.

~~~~~

Twenty minutes after that he was formally interviewing Sentinel Agent Alighieri and Guide Agent Winchester.

He sighed and looked up from his notes at the two earnest young men. "You were right, it is a very difficult situation. The doctors have posited that neither Major Milton nor Staff Sergeant Winchester is capable of giving informed consent to this move."

"Cas might not be, but he's not the one at most risk," answered Gabriel, promptly.

Sam added, "I'm pretty sure Dean is alert enough to answer for himself. And if he isn't, I'm his next of kin and I can give consent for him."

"And now that Anna is dead I'm Cas's emergency contact and medical proxy. As you know, he's estranged from his immediate family."

"Yes, you are, according to the Institute's records," said Balthazar. "If the hospital won't accept that you're his medical proxy, I think I can get him made a ward of the Institute until such time as he can answer for himself. That has certainly been done before."

"Good."

"And I believe that I can reassure Dr Langhorn, at least. I've been checking the statistics from various Guilds and Institutes around the world, and the circumstances of the meeting don’t have much effect on the longevity of the bond."

Gabe chuckled. "Well, that's reassuring. We met when a bomb went off."

"Well, it was a few minutes before the bomb went off, actually," Sam corrected him.

"And then you got yourself kidnapped. It was a very traumatic week."

"But you found me, and we survived."

"Ah, yes, I remember reading about that case," said Balthazar. He looked at Gabe, and Sam could see the careful scrutiny; the reassessment that took into account more than Gabe's "sassy gay friend" façade.

Balthazar turned back to Sam. "Your brother tested very highly in his teens, I understand. Was he never interested in the possibility of becoming a guide?"

"I know he had a high potential, but he didn't like the idea of being shackled for life, especially at such a young age, so he avoided the social functions whenever he could."

"He wasn't keen on Sam bonding either," Gabriel added.

"Yeah, and I was nearly twenty-one when I met Gabe. It took a while to convince him it was the real thing for us."

"Is it still a problem with him? Is he going to resist being a bonded guide? Because in all fairness to Major Milton, I don't want to end up merely prolonging his suffering."

Sam frowned and took his time in formulating a reply -- it was a very difficult question to answer. "I can't be one hundred per cent sure. I know he was very reluctant in his teens but from my perspective now, I think he was objecting to the monogamous nature of the bond rather than the bond itself. Dean was ... well, he was the most popular guy in school, you know? Good-looking, good at sports, great car ... he didn't even have to lift a finger to get a date. Why would a guy like that want to limit himself?" Sam noticed Balthazar frowning. "Yeah, I know, I've made him sound like an asshole, but he wasn't really. He was just really keen on getting the most out of life. And besides, that was a long time ago. He's matured since then. I know he was ready to settle down and get married a couple of years ago but that didn't work out."

"How so?"

"Lisa didn't like him being in the army and deploying so much. She gave him an ultimatum -- her or the Army -- and since he'd just signed on for another four years, he chose the Army. She kicked him out."

"He was very upset," Gabriel added. "Not just because he missed Lisa but also because he'd become very fond of her son and looked on him as his own."

"That is unfortunate," commented Balthazar.

"They still keep in touch, I think," said Sam. "I know Dean and Ben talk fairly regularly, by phone or on the net. Sometimes by video. I'm not sure if he talks with Lisa at all."

"I think that if Dean does have a problem with being a guide it won't be about commitment as such, it will be about commitment being forced on him," ventured Gabriel.

"So you're saying we have to allow him to make the choice."

"Or convince him that it's _his_ choice."

"I think that can be done. Before we go any further, though, I must also ask you to consider that even with the encouraging statistics, there is a chance that either Staff Sergeant Winchester is not Major Milton's guide, or alternatively, that the bond between them is indeed only temporary."

'No, it can't be that." Gabriel shook his head vehemently.

"I know it's not pleasant, but it has to be faced. Major Milton may not come out of his zone, or he may improve in spite of Staff Sergeant Winchester's presence and deny that they have a bond."

"What do we do then?" asked Sam.

"You let the Institute do its job. We have an intensive rehabilitation program for bereaved sentinels, one that has a reasonable degree of success. Some sentinels achieve new partnerships, while others learn to work on their own ... with or without enhanced senses. What we will not do is allow Major Milton to 'die peacefully' when he has so many years in front of him."

Gabriel shivered and instinctively leaned closer to Sam, who reached over and grabbed his hand. The thought of existing without each other was too frightening to contemplate in any detail, and they sought comfort in the reassurance of touch.

"I know that from your point of view, such a course would seem cruel. But I can tell you that it is possible for a sentinel to lose a guide -- or even two -- and still continue to function quite adequately as a human being, if not as a sentinel."

Sam saw the shadows in Balthazar's eyes as he spoke, and knew that he was in the presence of such a man. To be a twice-bereaved sentinel ... it seemed unimaginable, but if he said it was possible, then it was. But Sam had to wonder if Balthazar really considered his continued solitary existence as _living_. His aura would seem to suggest that on the emotional level he was barely surviving.

"But in the meantime, getting Dean and Cas in the same room is the best option," he said, hoping he was right.

"Yes it is. For the short term, anyway," replied Balthazar.

"So how soon before we can force the doctors to bring them together?"

"Let me talk to Staff Sergeant Winchester first, then I'll make a couple of calls. I'll let you know as soon as I can."

Sam sighed, but resigned himself to the wait.


	3. Germany

_Monday 07 June 2010, afternoon_

Dean Winchester was sitting up.

On any other day this might not have been an achievement worth mentioning, but after three days of being on his front it felt great, if only because his cracked ribs didn't hurt as much when he wasn't lying on them. His back remained covered in saline-soaked gauze but a layer of cling wrap had been added to allow him to lean back against the mountain of soft pillows that had been brought in. It was only a temporary reprieve, he knew (he would be face down again shortly so that the saline could be renewed) but it was still very welcome.

The door opened and a tall pale man in a face mask and gown came in.

 _Great_ , thought Dean. Yet another doctor. He was really getting tired of being poked and prodded.

"My name is Balthazar Blake," said the man, holding out his gloved hand, then he looked at the bandages on Dean's hands, gave a wry half-smile and dropped it again. "I'm from SGINA Headquarters in Washington."

SGINA? Well, at least the questions would be different. "Staff Sergeant Winchester, sir. You're the guy that came over to help Major Milton?"

"Yes. I understand you've offered to help as well."

"Yes, sir. Well, I did it before. Don't see why it wouldn't work again. But the doc's only just got this infection under control and he doesn't want me exposed to new bugs. I'm surprised he let you in, actually."

"Well, I have a few questions that really couldn't be answered properly through a third party."

"That's all I seem to be doing lately, answering questions."

"I'll try not to take too long."

"It's OK, sir, I'm not going anywhere."

"And please stop calling me 'sir'."

"Yes, s-- ... Mr Blake.'

"Oh, not that either. Call me Balthazar, or Balt. We're much more informal at the Institute."

"Yes ... Balthazar."

"I understand you were present when Major Hanael Milton was killed."

"Yeah, I was in the helo when she was shot. She was protecting me and took a shot up under the vest. She wasn't too badly affected at first, tried to pass it off as a graze. But she died sometime that night and Cas -- Major Milton -- he was zoned when I woke up."

"So you brought him out of the zone."

"Yes. Well, I had to. He was the only other one left alive, and there was no way I could get back on my own."

Something in the man's face shifted and Dean wondered if he'd been a bit too flippant. He hurried on. "I'd have helped him anyway, don't get me wrong, it was just more important right then. More urgent. I had to get him out and moving fast before the Croatoans caught up with us."

"How did you manage it?"

"Just the usual way -- talk and touch, same as I learned in guide class at school." He looked at Balthazar but the man's face was impassive, and he was struck by a sudden feeling that he'd done something dreadfully wrong. "Look it was a long time ago. I mean, I might not have remembered it all, or I might have remembered it wrong, but it worked, didn't it? I can't have done it that badly."

"Relax, Dean, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm just curious as to the precise details. I'd be grateful if you would go through it with me, step by step. Tell me what you did, starting from when you found that she had died."

Dean thought back. It had only been a few days ago but the memory was already hazy. He remembered sitting with Cas, holding his hand, talking to him, trying to get some response from him.

"I woke up while it was just starting to get light. It was really fu-- frigging cold and I hurt all over. I took a piss and I saw them when I turned back. Anna was dead -- stone cold -- and Cas was as still as a statue, sort of half-crouching, half-kneeling. I couldn't get any response to voice, so I tried patting him on the hand, on the cheek, then pinching the skin on the back of his hand. I remember ... I couldn't remember his name. I got his surname from his dog tag, and then I remembered Anna calling him Cas, so I used that name. He seemed to respond better to that. I told him I needed his help to get home, that Anna wanted him to help me -- which she did," he added, defensively. "I didn't make that up, sir, she told him not to give up, that he had to get home and find a new guide."

"It's all right, I'm not suggesting otherwise. How long did it take to bring him out, that first time?"

"Hours. Well, maybe an hour or so. It seemed like it took forever, though. I was getting really anxious because it was getting light and we knew that the Croatoans would have called in more troops for the search. I had to get him up and on the road before we got captured."

"Did you use any other modalities?"

"Sorry?"

"Any other senses? Or was it just touch and hearing."

"Just those. His eyes were closed and I didn't have anything to use for smell or taste. I mean, we were both pretty rank by then anyway, and I wasn't going to put my fingers in his mouth. So I just kept talking and patting his hand. Kept on saying I needed him, needed his help. Then he just woke up."

"He just woke up?"

"Yes, sir. Well, he opened his eyes, talked a little. He wasn't really with it though ... you know, like when you wake from the wrong phase of sleep. He was kind of dazed, couldn't focus, couldn't work out what to do. I had to keep him focused on things."

"How did you do that?"

"Gave him things to do -- little things, like opening the water bottle, opening the ration packs, picking up the litter, stuff he didn't have to think about." He help up his hands. "I know he's an officer, but I couldn't do much myself. I had to get him to help."

Blake gave him a faint smile. "I'm not going to quibble about the niceties of army etiquette. You did what was necessary for the sentinel at the time."

"I guess so."

"Did Major Milton become less dazed?"

"Yes, he started muttering about my injuries, he wanted to clean my back up, but we didn't have enough dressings and my shirt was really mucky anyway, so I told him it was a waste of time. He went a bit dopey any time he thought of Anna, but I kept on distracting him. And once we were on the road it was a bit easier, he got himself focused on driving and looking out for the enemy."

"Did he zone out again?"

"Yeah, a few times, usually when I was sleeping. Umm, I was getting feverish by then and I kept falling asleep pretty much every time the jeep stopped. There was one time that day when he went to scout ahead and I must have dropped off. I woke up alone and he wasn't anywhere I could see him and I kinda panicked a little. But then I found him and he was zoned and it only took about ten or fifteen minutes to get him back."

"So it became easier as time went on?"

"Yes. He wasn't zoning nearly so much and it only took a few words or a touch. Just as well really, I was getting sicker and I don't think I could have brought him out of a really deep zone. By the end of it he was holding me upright -- I was barely tracking at all."

Blake nodded, thoughtfully.

Dean wondered what was going through the man's mind. There was obviously something going on with Cas, though, something they thought Dean might have done. "He's going to be all right, isn't he? Major Milton, I mean."

"I'm not sure. He remains catatonic for the moment."

Well, damn. That didn't sound good. "Do you think it would help if I talked to him? I offered, seeing as how he responded to me before, but the doc doesn't seem to think it would help."

"It might, at least in the short term."

"Until you can find him a new guide, you mean."

"Perhaps." Balthazar looked at him with hawk-like eyes, and Dean felt as if he was being examined inside and out. "How did you feel, working with Major Milton?"

"How did _I_ feel?"

"Yes."

"Umm, I'm not sure. I didn’t really see him during the extraction; he was directing Anna and the others, but I got the impression he was pretty competent. He was pretty cool during the attack on the helo too. After that -- we just did what we had to do. I mean, I really did need him. I was pretty useless physically and he was out of it mentally but I guess between us we made a good team.'

Balthazar nodded. "Yes, I think you did." There was a long pause.

"Is that all?"

"Not quite. Tell me, Dean, would you be willing to act as Major Milton's guide for a time?"

Dean nodded. "Sure. The guy saved my life, it's the least I could do. And Anna. She wanted him to find a new guide, and I owe her too."

"And how would you feel about becoming his new permanent guide?"

"What?" Dean stared at him. "Whoa, no. Seriously, man, I'm not good guide material. There's got to be a hundred people out there who would be better for him. He's a good guy, he deserves the best. Besides, I'm enlisted, he's an officer. There's no way around that."

Balthazar looked faintly relieved, if anything, and Dean took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. That was a bullet he'd dodged by a hair's breadth. Permanent guide? That was so not him.

"And apart from the wounds, how are you feeling in yourself?"

"Pretty crap, actually. Still exhausted, but the doc told me that's normal after such a bad infection."

"Anything else?"

"What do you mean?"

"Your brother told me you mentioned an odd sensation under the skin."

"Oh, that. Yeah. I asked the doc about it but he said it was probably just a reaction to the sedative." Which Dean hadn't really believed, seeing as the odd feeling hadn't dissipated in the last twenty-four hours while the sedative had well and truly worn off, but he didn't have a better explanation.

"What does it feel like?'

"Like something crawling or vibrating just under the skin. Sort of shimmering. And I have a weird feeling that I need to be somewhere else. Up higher." He shrugged. "I don't think the hospital's about to get flooded, so I really don't know why."

Balthazar nodded slightly, as if debating with himself. "I have to be honest with you, Dean, I think that there is sufficient evidence for me to believe that you and Sentinel Milton have started to form a bond. What I can't tell at the moment is how deep or permanent that bond is."

"Bond?" Dean almost squeaked.

"At least a temporary bond. A grief reaction as intense as the one you described in Sentinel Milton doesn't usually dissipate so rapidly. For him to respond so well to you, to focus on you to the extent that he could put his own feelings and injuries aside ... well, that does suggest very strongly that he considered you to be his guide. Your own symptoms also support that theory. How much of that was purely due to the situation and how much is real and long-term, only time will tell."

"So it could be temporary."

"Or it could be permanent."

"Sonofabitch." Dean felt stunned. What the fuck had he done? He hadn't wanted to bond with the guy, he'd just tried to help. And all right, he'd been helping himself too, but it hadn't been purely selfish; he really had wanted Cas to get better and find a new guide as Anna had wanted ... just not so fast. And not him.

Thankfully, Balthazar said nothing and allowed Dean to work things out in his head.

"I just wanted to help," he muttered, plaintively.

"You did help."

"But I didn't mean to bond with him."

"Intent has nothing to do with it. A bond just happens. You work at making it stronger, deeper, more stable ... and of course you have to work at the other aspects of the relationship, be it conjugal, filial or platonic, but you can't create a bond just by wanting to. It simply happens."

"Fuck. Sorry."

"It's all right. I understand that this has been a bit of a shock for you."

"Yeah." He tried to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions inside him, but it was all too much, and he'd never been good at self-analysis, anyway, not like Sammy, who could describe each and every one of his feelings with eloquence. He should probably talk to Sam before things got too out of control, if they weren't already.

"So what happens now?" he heard himself asking.

"That's up to you. I know you've offered to help Sentinel Milton, but you may feel differently about it now that you know the risks."

"What happens if I don't?"

"I'll arrange for him to be transported back to the main Institute facility in Texas. We have an intensive rehabilitation program there. There is a good chance that he will recover to the extent where he can continue working, even if it's not as a sentinel."

"That's doesn't sound too good."

"The process of recovery is painful, in spite of everything we do, simply because of the depth of the bereavement. And the success rate is not as high as we would like, at least not the degree of success we would like."

"And what's the chance of him not recovering at all?"

"It's hard to estimate because every situation is different. But we do have a few sentinels around the country under long-term care. They remain unresponsive in spite of everything we've done."

"You really think Cas will end up like that?"

"I don't know. But a double bereavement is obviously harder to recover from than a single one."

"Damn. You're really putting the pressure on."

"No, actually, I'm trying very hard _not_ to put pressure on you." Balthazar's tone was suddenly angry. "I'm going out of my way to explain the risks and consequences to you so that you can make an informed choice, and every word I say makes it less likely that you will choose what I think is the best option. Of course I want him to recover, and the fastest and easiest way to do that is to put you both in the same room and let the bond bring him out. I could have arranged that without even telling you. But if the bond is permanent and you don't want to be his guide, then that will only make things worse for him in the long run. I don't want to risk that."

Wow. Well, that was honest, at least. "Can I think about this?" he asked.

Balthazar nodded. "Yes, you should."

"How much time do I have?"

"A day or two at most. The longer he's catatonic, the lower the success rate. As it is, we're over three days behind because the Institute wasn't informed of his condition immediately."

"OK." Two days. He had two days to decide what to do with the rest of his life; what to do with the rest of Cas' life. "If my brother's out there could you ask him to come in? I'd like to talk to him."

"Of course."

Balthazar left, and Dean lay back against the pillows, ignoring the discomfort in his back and hands.

Sam must have been lurking just outside because he came through the door not five minutes after Balthazar had left.

"Hey, Dean, how are you feeling?"

"Like someone just ran over me with a tank. Did you know?"

"About the bond?"

"Yeah."

"I suspected. When you woke up yesterday you were more anxious about Cas than about yourself. And you said you felt twitchy, which is how I feel whenever I'm away from Gabe for too long."

"Sonofabitch. You could have warned me."

"I wasn't certain. And I didn't want to spook you. You'd only just woken up, after all. I thought there'd be a bit more time to get you used to the idea."

"I have two days."

"Two days?"

"Two days to decide if I want to be a guide or not. After that he's going to take Cas back to the Institute and put him through some rehab thing."

"Oh."

There was something off about Sam's response. Dean looked at him but whatever it was he couldn't decipher it. He wasn't even getting a bitchface. Sam's expression was a lot bleaker than it usually was.

"What's up, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing.'

"It's never nothing."

Sam hesitated a few seconds before replying, "I'm confused. I just don't understand what's going on in your head."

"Confused how?"

"I know you weren't all that keen on being a guide when you were younger, but now ... I don't understand how you can even contemplate living without your sentinel. I don't know why you aren't jumping at the chance to be with him for the rest of your life; why you aren't demanding to see him right now."

"Look, just because you had some fairytale instant bond with Gabriel doesn't mean that everyone has to. There was no instant connection with us. I didn't take one look at him and 'just know' he was my sentinel. He was _Anna's_ sentinel and then she died and I just did the first aid I got taught and --" he broke off, feeling his throat tighten up. Dammit, he wasn't going to cry, not in front of Sammy. "I'm just saying, it wasn't like that."

Sam's eyes softened. "You care about him."

"Of course I care about him. He saved my life. And I got his guide killed in the process."

"That wasn't your fault."

"It was my fault. There were five people on that rescue mission and four of them died. All because of me."

"It doesn't work like that and you know it."

"It doesn't change the facts. I'm the one who got his sister killed. He isn't going to want me hanging around for the rest of his life."

"Isn't that up to him to decide?"

"Maybe, but I have to work out whether or not to bring him out of the zone. I know I can do that -- I _know_ I can bring him round again, and if it was just going to be for a week or two I'd have no problem with it. But if I bring him out and it turns out it's permanent ... what do I do then?"

"Dean, you know I can't make that decision for you."

Dean heaved a sigh. "I know. It's just that it's so _big_. We're talking about the rest of my life here. And honestly, Sam, I'm not a guide."

"What's wrong with being a guide?"

"Nothing -- if you're the type. But I'm not."

Sam looked even more confused. "What do you mean by 'the type'? There's no one type of guide. We're all different."

"But you're all backup. You stand there and help the sentinel do his job. It's like you're an accessory. And that's just not me. I'm the quarterback, not the cheerleader."

Sam gaped at him, before his face got hard and angry -- an expression Dean had rarely seen on his brother's face since he'd left home. "Dean, do you honestly think I'm just Gabe's backup? Do you think I stand three paces behind and do what he wants me to do? Is that what you've been thinking of me for the last six years? That I'm just some sort of glorified personal assistant?"

"You gave up your plans for law school when you met him. You joined FLEA when he wanted to. You carry a sidearm now when you wouldn't even touch one as a kid. You don't go anywhere without him. Half the time I ask you a question and he answers for you. What the hell am I supposed to think?"

"Dean, that's so wrong. I can't even..." Sam took a deep breath and then shook his head. "I don't even know where to begin."

There was a tap on the window that caught their attention. It was Gabriel, and Sam immediately let go of Dean and got up. "I'll just see what he wants, then I'll come back."

Dean gave a bitter laugh. "I rest my case."

"I'll be straight back."

"Take your time. I'm surprised he didn't come in here with you to give me the sentinel point of view."

"That's exactly why he isn't in here. He knows it would be unfair."

That made Dean pause. "Well, then ... thank him for being a bit less of an asshole than he usually is."

"That will definitely make his day," Sam said, drily, and walked out of the room.

Dean lay back against the pillows and thought about the conversations he'd just had.

Why was everyone so concerned about being fair all of a sudden? Balthazar had emphasized the possibility of a permanent bond, Sammy wouldn't help, and even Gabe was holding back for fear of influencing him? For someone who'd been in the army and following orders for thirteen years it was a little bit much to be suddenly thrown down and told to make his own choice -- a choice that would completely change his life. It wasn't like he was asking for the moon. All he wanted was a guarantee that he would make the right choice, both for him and for Cas.

Then he ran that last sentence through his head again and groaned.

"I am so screwed," he told the ceiling.

~~~~~

He was half-asleep when Gabriel walked in about twenty minutes later. He braced himself for an onslaught -- hoping his injuries would restrict Gabe to verbal attacks -- and was surprised to find Gabe calmly sitting down in the chair beside the bed and looking at him.

They waited, each looking at the other.

Suddenly, Dean couldn't stand the silence any more. "So?" he asked. "You're here to talk me into becoming Cas' guide?"

"No."

"No?"

"It's not my decision to make. Though if you ask me for my _opinion_ , I think Cas could do a whole lot better for himself with just about anyone else."

"Yeah, he could."

If Gabe was surprised by Dean's ready concurrence, he didn't show it. "I wasn't going to come in here at all, but Sam said I need to talk to you, to give you the sentinel point of view. When he told me what you'd said, I think he expected me to be angry on his behalf. But I wasn't. It actually confirmed something I've thought for years."

"What's that?"

"That you honestly don't see the sentinel-guide pairing as an equal partnership. And until you do, you're never going to accept me ... or Cas."

"Well, it isn't."

"It is. The problem is, you only see the superhero and faithful sidekick, like they show in the movies. You know, where the guide gets kidnapped or the guide gets attacked or the guide makes a mistake and the sentinel has to come to the rescue. In real life it's very different. I depend on Sam just as much as he depends on me. I can't go into details, obviously, but there's been more than one occasion when he's saved me, not vice versa. It is, in all respects, an equal partnership."

"But he changed so much when he met you."

"I'm sure he did. But the thing is, Dean ... so did I. You didn't know me before I met him, so you have no basis for comparison, but believe me, I changed too. It's inevitable in any long-term relationship. People change, Dean; people are always changing. Sometimes it's a smooth steady change, sometimes it happens in bursts. Becoming part of a sentinel-guide partnership is a huge step and yes, people change a lot. But it doesn't mean that the change is necessarily bad."

"I know that. But it's like he has no life without you."

"And I have no life without him. In fact he's much more likely to survive on his own than I am."

It was the matter-of-fact tone that got Dean's attention more than the words. "You'd die without him?"

"With our particular type of bond, I think it's more likely than not."

"But you had years without a guide before you met him."

"Before and after are not at all the same thing. Because I never had a guide until I met Sam, I had no idea how much of a difference it was going to make. Now, having been his partner for six years, if I lost him ... well, I'd be the one lying unconscious in a bed somewhere, unless I'm lucky enough to die with him."

Wow. That certainly wasn't what he'd expected Gabe to say. "How much of a difference did it make to you?"

"Honestly? Everything was easier. Clearer. Like ... have you ever heard an old 78-rpm record? It's scratchy and the music's not that clear and it's all a bit distorted ... but if you've never heard anything else it's wonderful, because you get to hear great performances, and you learn to filter out the hiss and the scratches so you can enjoy the music. That's what my life was like before Sam. When I met him it was like upgrading from a 78 mono record to a CD with top-of-the-line stereo headphones. There was no hiss, no scratch; the dynamic range was amazing; the music had shape and color and clarity like you wouldn't believe ... it was more than I could possibly have imagined. Sam ... Sam opened up the world for me. He anchors me and lets my senses soar."

Dean was astonished. He'd never heard Gabe say anything so eloquent before. 

"Now imagine what it would be like having that CD player taken away and someone telling you that you will never hear anything but scratchy 78s ever again. That you will have to spend so much energy balancing your senses that you just can't think clearly. That anytime you're tired or hurt or miserable your senses will go out of control again."

"That's what it's like for Cas now?"

"For Cas it's even worse. He came online and Anna was there for him. He has never experienced life as a sentinel without a guide. He has no idea how to ground himself or how to abort a zone or a spike. For him, it's like losing all his senses at once."

"Shit." Dean was horrified. He'd known -- as everyone did -- that losing a guide was horrible, but he hadn't ever sat down to consider all the implications.

Gabe sighed. "Look, I didn't say that just to get you to feel sorry for him. I still think if there was any other option than you he'd be better off. But not sentinel rehab. Not sense suppression for the rest of his life. That's ... that's like condemning him to hell, forever."

"So I'm better than perpetual damnation. Gee, thanks."

Gabe snorted. "As far as I'm concerned, living with you _would_ be perpetual damnation. I can't see how the two of you would ever be happy together -- you'd spend so much time fighting over who was in charge that you'd get yourselves killed. But you know, I meant it when I said it's not my decision. It's for you and Cas to decide. And I have the really, really difficult task of choosing whether Cas even gets a chance to make that decision for himself. Because I don't think he's going to come out of this zone without you."

"Really?"

Gabe shrugged. "From what I've read in his records and what you told Sam ... yeah, I think you two have a bond. And given the blood relationships, I think there's a pretty high chance this isn't just a temporary emergency connection, it’s a permanent bond. And I don't think you're ready for a permanent bond. I'm not sure you'll ever be. I think you're going to cause Cas as much pain as he'd have on his own in rehab. So, yeah, I really have no idea what to do."

Dean had no words. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I didn't mean to."

Gabe was silent.

"No, really. I did not bring him out of that zone for any reason other than to get us home. I didn't know it was going to create a bond. I didn't feel anything like Sam told me he felt when he met you - he said he just saw you and _knew_ he was your guide. I didn't get any of that. I didn't even know it was a bond until an hour ago."

"Dean, it was never going to be exactly the same for you as it was for Sam. You're different people, you react differently."

"I know, but ... I would have liked a bit of a hint."

"Life doesn't work that way."

Dean sighed.

Gabe tilted his head. "Tell me, if you'd known then, back in Croatoa, that bringing Cas out of the zone would cause a permanent bond, would you still have done it?"

Dean thought about that one for a good long while. "I don't know. I mean, I think I would have, anyway, because leaving him there was not an option. But ... damn it, Gabe, what else was I supposed to do?"

Gabe shrugged his shoulders. "I don't think there's a right answer for that. You just have to do what you feel is right at the time."

"Oh, great." Now even Gabe was getting philosophical and Zen-like.

"Well, delightful as this chat has been, I'm going to go and take Sammy back to the hotel to shower and change and then I'm taking him out for dinner. He's barely eaten anything since we arrived, and I'm not going to pass up the opportunity to sample gugelhupf and Schwarzwalder kirschentorte. If I'm feeling generous, I might even bring you back some apfeltasche."

Dean regarded him with some suspicion. "If that's German for tripe or pig's trotters or something equally disgusting, I'll pass."

Gabe looked insulted. "Would I do that to an wounded soldier?"

"Yeah, you would, if the wounded soldier is me ... which it is."

Gabe laughed and left the room, leaving Dean to his thoughts and the prospect of another unappetizing hospital meal.

He wasn't expecting to see his brother again for a couple of hours or more, but Sam slipped into the room not five minutes after Gabe had left.

"You turning down Gabe's dinner invitation?"

"No, we'll go in a minute. I just wanted to check that you're OK."

"Yeah. As good as I can be, anyway."

"Well I'm glad you didn’t come to blows."

"Nah, he's OK. Still a dick, but OK."

"So you any clearer on the options?"

"Not really. You and Balthazar and Gabe -- there's a lot of information there I've got to process, and I still have no fucking idea what to do."

"Listen to your heart."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not."

"You're my brother, not an agony aunt."

"I can't tell you what choice to make, Dean. I'm not you, and I don't know Cas. All I can do is help you to make the choice for yourself."

"By listening to my heart."

"Yes. Or listen to your gut, if that's more acceptable to your manly sensibilities."

"Huh." Dean's grunt indicated how much he thought of that. "But what I don't get is ... how do I work out what part is bond and what part is me owing him my life and what part is guilt at getting the others killed?"

"I don't know."

"Shit, Sammy, I need help here!"

Sam moved closer and Dean felt his brother's arms go around him. It wasn't a close hug -- Sam had obviously been warned not to put any pressure on Dean's back -- but it was comforting anyway.

"You know it doesn't matter to me what you decide," Sam said, his voice low and soothing. "You're still my brother. You'll always be my brother."

Dean let his head rest on Sammy's shoulder. "I don't want to do the wrong thing."

"There's no right or wrong here."

"But what if I fail? What happens if I can't be the guide that he needs?"

"You'll work it out between you."

"But I'm not good with relationships, everyone knows that. Lisa was the longest I had and look how that ended."

"You weren't the one to end it."

"No, she did, because I wasn't good enough for her."

"Hey, none of that. She was the idiot who tried to make you choose between the Army and her. If she couldn't accept your career then she wasn't good enough for you."

"Well, I guess that's one problem I wouldn't have with Cas."

"No, Gabe says he's Army through and through. You'd get to do more special operations stuff with him."

"If I make the grade. And that's another thing -- it's going to be a long time before I can do combat training again. There's a chance my fingers won't heal well enough to handle weapons. What happens if I can't pass combat fitness? What happens if he's stuck with me as a guide and I'm holding him back?"

"You'll make it, Dean. None of your injuries are career-stoppers. You just have to take the time to let your body heal."

"Maybe."

"And when you look at it, being on extended sick leave will give you the time to do your guide training, since most of that will be theory or verbal. You already know the self-defense stuff and how to work within an organization, so you can skip those bits. By the time you're all healed up and ready to go back to your unit you'll have all the guide training under your belt."

Dean had to smile -- it was so typical of Sam to see the good side of every misfortune. "Never change, Sammy, never change."

~~~~~

He had asked for time to consider his options, but in the end Dean knew that there was only one choice he could make and still live with himself. Barely an hour after Sam had left him to think, he pressed the call button and asked for Balthazar.

The man had barely taken a step into the room before Dean announced, in a heavy tone, "I'll do it."

Balthazar raised an eyebrow, very elegantly, and asked. "What, precisely, will you do?"

"I'll do the guide thing. Bring him in here, I'll bring him out of the zone, and if he wants me as his guide I'll do it."

Balthazar sighed. "I'd have a great deal more confidence if you didn't sound as if you're on the way to the gallows. This is not supposed to be a life sentence, Dean. It's a long-term relationship; one that is, in some respects, closer than a marriage. It's not something to be done on sufferance, out of guilt or a misplaced sense of duty."

Dean stared at him. "You said you wanted him out of the zone!"

"And so I do. But not if it's going to leave him shackled to an unwilling guide."

Dean opened his mouth to expostulate, but he couldn't deny the truth of Balthazar's statement.

"No," continued Blake, "on the whole I think it might be better if I take him back to the States with me. I've been going through the files and I think I can provide him with half a dozen guide candidates once he's through rehab. A couple are even in the military. None with your experience, of course, but then Major Milton is getting a little old for active service."

"He's not old!"

"He's thirty-six. Admittedly, the candidates I have in mind are a lot younger -- as you know, most guide candidates fall off the books once they hit their twenties -- but I'm sure he'll be able to train his guide up to be an adequate partner."

Dean gaped at him. The thought of Cas being dependent on a young wet-behind-the-ears guide was horrifying. "No, you can't. Pairing him up with some kid is a sure-fire way to get them both killed."

"Possibly. But an older candidate isn't going to want to join the military -- even if he or she should pass the fitness requirements -- so the alternative is to pull him out of the Army and into a more sedentary occupation."

"You can't do that. Look, the Army is his life. He needs someone who can work alongside him. Someone who knows the military, who has skills that complement his own. Someone who can protect him while he's working in the field. You have to have people like that on the books."

"Someone with ten or more years' experience, combat veteran, qualified marksman, can fix any vehicle or weapon, able to bring a sentinel out of a deep zone even while severely wounded himself?"

"Yes, exactly."

Balthazar smiled, and Dean was reminded rather vividly of the crocodile from the Just-So Stories he'd read as a child. Then he realized how neatly Balthazar had led him into the trap.

"Fuck!" That exclamation held all the frustration, anger and resentment he'd been trying to hold back for the last day and a half. He wanted to punch a hole in the wall, but with both hands broken and splinted it just wasn't possible. He settled for rubbing his face with the heel of his left hand.

When he looked up again, Balthazar was regarding him more benignly. "Do you honestly think that anyone else would be able to support and protect him as well as you can?"

"No." He thought about all the ways Cas could get into strife on his own, and knew he was condemning himself. "No, I don't." He took a couple of deep breaths and looked up at Balthazar. "You are one devious son of a bitch, you know that?"

"Only when it's necessary to be. But I think it helped, don't you?"

"Yeah, it did." He had to admit that it really had helped him to realize how he felt about Cas and about being his guide. Which didn't mean that he actually liked the prospect of being bonded, just that he didn't trust anyone else to look after Cas as well as he could. "OK. What happens now?"

"I'm going to arrange for Major Milton to be brought in here so that you can talk to him. I'm fairly confident, from what you've said, that you'll be able to bring him out of his catatonia within an hour or two."

"And then?"

"Then I talk to your doctor, work out the earliest date you'll be cleared for air travel, and get both of you over to the training campus in Texas. I estimate it will be two to three months, possibly more, before you'll be fit for military training, which should give us ample time to give you the guide training you need."

Dean nodded. "OK."

And that, apparently, was that.

~~~~~

It took several more discussions, intervention via telephone from the President of the Sentinel & Guide Institute of North America, a stack of disclaimer forms (and a further hour's delay while they harvested some of Dean's skin to culture the stem cells) but they moved a newly washed and disinfected Cas into Dean's room late that evening. Almost immediately, Cas's heart rate and blood pressure climbed a little, but he remained comatose as his monitors were reconnected and his IV lines adjusted. He had a nasogastric tube taped in place over his cheek and a catheter draining the bladder, and he looked pale and gaunt and very fragile.

Dean's own heart rate rose precipitously when he saw Cas wheeled in on his bed. He hadn't realized just how much he had missed being with the guy until he appeared. When the bed was positioned three feet away from his own he felt anxious and reached out helplessly.

"Relax, Dean," said Balthazar, who had suited up so he could be in the room with them. He made the orderlies removed the bedside unit that was blocking the space and then lower the guard rail and push the two beds together. Only once he was satisfied that the beds had no space between the frames and the brakes were locked on both beds did he let them go.

"Now," he turned back to Dean, "I believe you know what to do."

"Talk to him, touch him, bring him out of the zone."

"That's right. I'm fairly confident that he'll come out of it sometime this evening, but you’re not to stay awake all night if he doesn't. If he's still catatonic tomorrow morning I'll come in early and assist you with some additional sensory stimulation before you get your new skin. Even after that you should still be able to touch him, though you'll have limited movement."

Dean nodded. That was one aspect of his treatment he wasn't looking forward to - he'd only been allowed to sit up since that morning, and tomorrow he would be back on his stomach for at least three days. 

Balthazar made sure the call button was within easy reach, that there were drinks and snacks on the bedside unit, and that Dean knew what to do if he felt that Cas wasn't responding. Then he dimmed the lights and made his exit, leaving Dean alone with his sentinel.

Well.

Dean tried to make himself comfortable, taking Cas' hand and rubbing it gently.

"Hey, Cas, umm, Major Milton, it's me, Dean. Staff Sergeant Winchester. Umm, I hope you don't mind I called you Cas. I know you said it was OK in the woods, but we're not there now, we're back in civilization, so I ought to be sticking to the rules, except that back there you responded much better when I said Cas than Major Milton. So I'll call you Cas. You can always tell me to back off later, if -- when -- you wake up.

"I'm sorry you're not well. Sam and Gabe and the guy from the Institute think we may have formed a bond. I didn't realize that was possible, not when ... well, I guess you didn't either. But we went through a fairly traumatic few days together, and that makes a bond even between normals, so I guess between a guide and a sentinel it's bound to have gone a bit deeper. I didn't know I was being a guide, I didn't do it on purpose, you have to believe me."

Cas slowly turned his head very slightly towards him. Was that an flicker of movement behind the closed eyelids? It was hard to tell. He watched Cas' face carefully for a few more seconds, but there was no further movement. His eyes stayed closed and his hand was limp.

"Come on, Cas. I know you're in there. I know you're hurting and grieving and you're all shut down because you feel like you're alone. But you're not. I'm here now, and Gabe and Sam are here -- they're your family too, as well as mine. So we're kind of cousins-in-law on top of the bond thing, which is weird. And even if this doesn't work out between us, I know Sam and Gabe will look out for you. Sam's cool. I know you haven't met him yet, but trust me, he is. Gabe's kind of a dick, to be honest, but he loves Sam and Sam loves him. They're so cute together it's kind of nauseous sometimes. But they get on really well, and they make a fantastic team.

"Sam and Balthazar seem to think this might be a permanent bond. I don't know about that -- I mean, it would be pretty freakish to bond with a new guide just minutes after you lose the old one. Not that Anna was old, you know, she was pretty hot. Well, not hot in a 'I want to jump her' way, because I wouldn't, you know, even if she weren't bonded. But she was totally kick-ass hot -- she took out four guards without raising a sweat. And she recognized my lame-ass attempt to throw out a Star Wars reference. Takes a pretty cool chick to do that, you know?

"I really wish she hadn't died. I wish that bullet had got me instead, because then the two of you could have escaped and you'd be OK."

Cas moved a little. Dean wasn’t sure if it was random or in response to what he'd just said. He stroked Cas's hand anyway, and continued. "OK so maybe I don't really think that -- I mean, being alive is pretty good, when you think of the alternative, and my fingers are healing and they're putting on the new skin tomorrow so that's going to be good. I might have some scarring around the eye, but hey, I don't have to look at my own face, right? Well, except when I'm shaving, but maybe I can get an excused chit on psychological grounds. Or maybe not. They might not let me back on active duty if I'm that fucked up."

His voice dropped. "I am fucked up, you know. I haven't told them everything. I didn't even tell you everything, but you knew that. I heard you talking to that lieutenant in the APC. He only suspected I'd missed stuff out. You knew I'd missed stuff out but you still trusted me. I guess that means something, yeah? Not sure what it means, though."

He took a sip of water. It was flat and tasteless but it was water that didn't have to go through the IV line in his arm. He wondered if Cas was thirsty -- he had his own drip but his lips looked very dry. There were some sachets of lip salve on the tray that had been delivered with him, and he reached over to get one. He managed to tear it open using his teeth. It wasn't very hygienic but he still had very little use of his fingers, and he told himself that mouths weren't exactly sterile anyway. He squeezed out a little of the ointment onto Cas' lower lip and spread it over the chapped skin with the fingertips of his left hand.

"I don't think this stuff tastes too good, but it will stop your lips from drying out too much. You probably need to have your teeth cleaned too, but there's no way I can do that for you until these fingers work a bit better. But I can get you water, or if you're hungry there's some protein milkshake stuff. Probably tastes like shit but it's supposed to be good for you. If you want something different though, just let me know and I'll get Sam or Gabe to get it for you.

He wiped his finger on the sheet. When he turned back, Cas' eyes were open. They looked startlingly blue against the pallor of his skin.

"Hey, there you are. I knew you were still in there somewhere." He resumed stroking the back of Cas' hand. There wasn't much awareness in Cas' eyes but he gave a little 'mmm' sound in his throat and his head turned a little further towards Dean. 

"That's it, listen to my voice, feel my touch on your skin. Are you cold? You shouldn't be, they have the temperature up pretty high because I can't really wear anything at the moment. My back's pretty raw -- they had to remove a lot of dead skin, more than just what was burnt, so that's why I'm in isolation. You probably don't remember but they had to give you some sort of all-over antiseptic wash before they let you come in here with me, and some antibiotics to clean out your gut, which sounds pretty nasty. But at least you're here with me. They've got this antibiotic goop all over my back to keep it clean overnight. It itches a bit but that's better than hurting. If it's still clean tomorrow they're going to spray it with cells -- sort of like a liquid skin graft. If it takes, it might not even leave a scar, which will be really good. Didn't want to go through life with that scar. The doc showed me a picture of it -- if I ever see that bastard Alistair again I'm going to fubar him so bad his own mother wouldn't recognize him.

"Sam and Gabe are going to come visit in the morning. They have to go back to the States soon but I'm hoping they can stay until we come out of isolation. Gabe said he was going to try and get us something to keep us occupied, like a chess set. Don't know about you, but I suck at chess. At least, I do against Sam. Never really played against anyone else. Bobby had a lot of those old board games, and we never had money to go out or rent videos so we played a lot, especially in the winter. I did pretty good at Monopoly, cause that's buy-buy-buy, but Sam always did better at Risk. He's the one who can think five moves ahead. Me, I'm just a dumb grunt, I barely see the next move."

Cas' hand tightened briefly on his. Did that mean he had understood?

"I don't think I told you about Bobby before. He was my Dad's friend, and when Dad got sick he took us in, me and Sammy. Wouldn't let me leave school, either, made me stay and graduate. He said that I'd earn more that way eventually, a lot more than I would have earned in eighteen months on minimum wage. He was right, but I hated being dependent on him. Took us a while to mend fences after I joined the army, but we're good now. He and Sammy, they're basically all the family I have. Got some cousins on my Mom's side, but they're stuck-up little pricks. I'm not surprised my Mom ditched her family for my Dad. I just wish they'd had longer together. She died when Sam was a baby and my Dad never really recovered -- he took to drinking and his liver gave out on him eventually.

"God, I didn't mean to bore you with my family history. Got so many ghosts in my life I could write a book. But tonight it's just you and me, so if there's anything you want, if there's anything you need, just tell me and I'll do my best to get it for you. If it's not here I'll buzz the nurse and see what we can do." He looked down at their intertwined hands: feeling the rightness of it; the warmth of Cas' skin against his own; the faint thrum of Cas' pulse.

"Water."

It was more of a croak than a spoken word, but Dean's head came up so fast he winced. Cas was looking at him, aware of him, and he smiled.

"Hey there. What did you say?"

"I'd like a drink of water."

"Sure thing," he said, trying to smile. "One glass of water coming right up."

He grabbed the beaker and the jug of water that had been left for them. Slipping his thumb in the handle, he tilted it and half-filled the beaker. He slid one arm behind Cas' neck and supported him while he drank. The lip balm he'd applied a few minutes before left a greasy lip print on the beaker. He let Cas take a few more sips, then released him and set the beaker down.

"Where are we?"

"The big military hospital in Germany."

"Lazarett."

"Yeah."

"How long have we been here?"

"About three days."

"I don't remember."

"No, you went into bond shock when we got back to base."

"That's weird. I remember most of the journey back -- Anna..." His voice faltered.

"Yeah, I know."

"You brought me back. I remember some of it, I think."

Dean shrugged. "I just did the sentinel first aid thing - talking, patting your cheek. Wasn't able to do much else.

"But it worked."

"Appears so."

"How are you? Is your eye all right?"

"I've been worse."

"I know, I saw you."

"The eye's OK. They took the dressing off this morning to clean the burn and I could see OK -- a bit blurred but they say that's just from the swelling. It should be back to normal in a couple of days."

"That -- that's good news. I was worried about you."

"I was worried about me, too. They have me on every antibiotic they can get. And I've had so many X-rays I think I glow in the dark."

"Your hands..." Cas reached out and touched Dean's left index finger -- one of the few that wasn't broken.

"Yeah, they're ... they're pretty useless at the moment. The doctors didn't want to operate while I was so infected so they just got splinted."

"I'm sorry, that must make it very difficult for you."

"Tell me about it. It's a major evolution just to take a piss. They offered to put the catheter back but..." He winced at the very thought.

Cas winced with him. "I don't really blame you."

"It's OK. I'm getting better. You got me out of there, now all I have to do is heal."

"I suspect that goes for both of us."

"Yeah ... about that..." He got up and started pacing around the room. It didn't take long.

"What is it?"

"Do you remember much of what I've been saying while you've been in la-la land?"

"Some."

"Well, see, here's the thing. Sam and Gabe -- you know, it turns out your cousin Gabriel is bonded to my brother Sam, crazy coincidence, huh?"

"Really? I had no idea. I knew he bonded a few years ago, but I've never met his guide."

"Yeah, I didn't even know he had a cousin in the Army. But anyway, they think that we're ... that you..."

"That I what?" Cas looked up, curiously vulnerable.

"That we bonded. On the way home. Like _bond_ -bonded, not just soldiers-in-hell bonded. Sentinel-and-guide bonded."

"Oh." Cas was silent.

"Oh? That's all you've got to say? I tell you that we underwent some mystical life-altering transformation out there and all you can say is 'oh'?"

"It's not exactly mystical. There is some very interesting research showing --"

"I'm not talking about research, Cas! I'm talking about the fact that somehow we got bonded without either of us knowing. That you somehow transferred your bond from Anna to me within the space of a day. I'm talking about the fact that I may be tied to you for life and no one even so much as asked me if I wanted it."

He wasn't looking directly at Cas, but he caught the flash of pain on his face, and felt guilty.

"I'm sorry," he went on, his voice much quieter. "I know it's not your fault. I know I basically did this myself just by talking to you, keeping you awake, keeping you focusing on me. I just didn't realize how ... how effective it was."

"I see. I'm sorry too." Cas took a couple of slow deep breaths, then braced himself and continued, "I understand that a permanent bond is not something that can be severed without significant discomfort, but perhaps this is not yet permanent? If I can contact someone from the Institute they may be able to suggest some medication that could help tide you over until the bond disintegrates."

"What? No! You think I'll just take happy pills for a month or two while you die quietly in a corner? No fucking way."

Cas looked very confused. "Then what is your problem?"

Dean tried to run a hand through his hair and failed. Goddammit, but he hated these splints! "It's just ... when you go to a meet & greet there's an expectation that you'll meet someone compatible. You're mentally prepared. I wasn't. I was escaping from hell, basically, in a rickety jeep with a grief-crazed sentinel. Bonding was the last thing on my mind."

"If it's any consolation, it wasn't on my mind either.'

"I know," he sighed. It really wasn't Cas' fault. And honestly, what were the chances? "Have you ever heard of this happening before?"

"A second bond is unusual but it has happened before."

"So immediately, though?"

"I don't know."

Dean slumped down. "Sorry. I really didn't mean to dump all this on you the minute you woke up."

"It has obviously been preying on your mind."

"Yeah. I've been feeling really twitchy the last couple of days. Actually since we got back the base. Knowing I needed to be somewhere else and not being able to get there."

"Yes, I know that feeling. I believe the medical term is formication."

Dean stared at him. "You're shitting me."

Cas' eyes twinkled a little as he added, "No, I'm not. Formication is the sensation of ants crawling under the skin."

"It's really called that?"

"Really. Obviously, you have to be careful how you say it if you don’t wish to be misunderstood."

"Yeah," Dean gave a reluctant grin. "I can see how that might go."

They were silent for a couple of minutes, then Dean gave into the compulsion and touched Cas' hand again. Cas immediately relaxed, and Dean felt all sorts of mean for having dumped his problems on the man who had saved his life.

"It's going to take me a while to get used to this," he ventured.

"Do you think you ever will?" asked Cas, and the carefully-neutral tone made Dean's heart ache.

"Yeah, I think I will. Not much else I can do. And don't talk about breaking the bond. It's not going to happen. Just let me take some time. I'll get there eventually."

"Thank you," Cas said in a soft voice.

He made an attempt to sit up, but was too weak. Dean found the control unit and brought the head of the bed up slowly until Cas was happy with the position. They were almost eye to eye and Dean took Cas' hand again.

"How are your senses?" he asked.

Cas shook his head. "Muted, mostly. I can see and hear you, but everything's muffled."

"Probably just as well. Hospitals are no place for a sentinel."

"True."

Mindful of his duties, Dean asked, "Would you like one of the protein drinks?" When Cas made a face he added, "They're not that bad actually. You even have a choice of flavors -- chocolate, coffee, vanilla or banana."

"I'd rather just have water or juice."

"I don't have juice. I can ring and ask for some though."

"No, leave it for now. Water will do. I'm not even really thirsty."

"Well, they've been feeding you through the tube and the IV, so you shouldn't be."

"Can I get them taken out? My throat is very sore."

"Sure. I'll ring for a nurse."

Cas' grip on his hand tightened. "No, it's all right."

"What's wrong?" Dean tried not to wince at the pain, but Cas must have realized anyway because he let go. "Hey, it's OK, it was just a little tight for a second. Why don't you want me to ring for a nurse?"

Cas looked a little embarrassed. "I ... I like the fact that we're alone. I don't have to worry about anything else. If other people start coming in that I have to go back to being Major Milton and I'd prefer to stay just Cas for a little while longer."

Dean slid his splinted fingers under Cas' hand. "I get that." He did. There was a cozy quality to the room they were in, with the airlock keeping the world at bay. There was no rank in here, no official position, it was just him and Cas, like it had been in Croatoa.

Cas moved himself closer to Dean. "I'm glad they put the beds together."

"Yeah, me too."

"That night, in Croatoa, when we slept..." he paused, as if he wasn't sure exactly how to describe it.

"Yeah, I remember." Dean had been cold and in pain, and Cas had pulled Dean half over himself so that his back wasn't taking any weight and they could keep each other warm. "It felt so comfortable."

"I was sure I wasn't going to sleep at all, I thought you'd be fidgeting and that would keep me awake."

"Nah, I was out like a light."

"So was I."

"You think that's a good omen for the future?"

"I think it could be."

Dean leaned back against the pillows and he and Cas stared at each other until they fell asleep, still holding hands.

~~~~~

Dean wasn't surprised to find that there was a queue of people wanting to see them the next morning. After Dr Banks had pronounced Dean's skin ready for the stem cell application, they endured a tough half-hour with Dr Langhorn who seemed determined to claim Cas' recovery as a product of his own treatment rather than acknowledging Dean's contribution. Once Cas had confidently claimed Dean as his guide, however, Dr Langhorn had no option but to yield ground to Balthazar.

Balthazar looked genuinely pleased to see that Cas was awake and in full possession of his faculties ... and also that Dean hadn't made a break for freedom overnight. He promised to get the preliminary paperwork completed before the end of the day, on the understanding that they would not achieve full partnership status until they could be tested at the Institute.

"I'll liaise with both your unit commanders to ensure that you can be assigned to the Institute during your convalescent leave. There will be some details to sort out, of course, and it may take some time before you are both back on active duty, but that's actually a benefit."

"I guess so," Dean acknowledged, although the prospect of at least three months out of action wasn't pleasant.

"It will be fine," said Cas, reassuringly. "The more we practice working as a team before we need to do so in the field, the safer we'll both be. And I will make very sure that you don't start physical training too soon. I don't want you to risk further injury."

"Huh. Just wait 'til you see what I'm like when I haven't run for a week or two."

Cas smiled. "Bad-tempered?"

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"I think I'll cope."

Balthazar left to make some phone calls, and they managed a half-hour of rest before the burns registrar came in with the stem cell gun. First Dean's back was thoroughly cleaned again to remove all dead cells and exudate, then the raw skin (including the donor site from the night before) was sprayed with the stem cell suspension. After that a special dressing was applied to protect the new cells while they attached to the raw surface and multiplied. Then the process was repeated with his left temple.

Cas watched it all with intent concentration, giving Dean a running commentary.

"It's looking a lot healthier than it did in Croatoa," he commented.

"After the amount of antibiotics they've pumped into me it damn well should," replied Dean. "Not to mention the number of times they've scrubbed it."

Finally it was done, with Dean being advised to stay on his front for the next couple of hours to let everything settle. After that he could sit or stand, but was told not to lie on his back for two days.

He grimaced at that, but made no argument. He wanted to heal as quickly as he could and he definitely wanted that scar to be gone, so he was going to adhere to the doctor's instructions as closely as possible.

Then Cas was freed of his catheter (the nasogastric tube having been removed before breakfast) and they settled down to the most exciting pastime on offer: Scrabble. To his own surprise, Dean won the first two games -- more on strategy than on vocabulary, admittedly, but he still won, and was not gracious in victory, either. Luckily for him, Castiel was the forgiving sort.

~~~~

The mood in the room plummeted after lunch when Cas received a phone call from mortuary services. They required advice on what to do with Anna's body, which had been had been transferred to Landstuhl on the same plane as them and had been resting in the morgue since then, awaiting further instructions.

Cas appeared to be quite upset and Dean reached over to touch his arm. He got a watery smile but no explanation until the call was over and Cas had replaced the phone in its cradle.

"What's up?" he asked.

"My sister's body. They want to know what to do."

"Oh. Didn't she leave any instructions?"

"She did, but apparently they want confirmation from next of kin before carrying them out."

"I guess that's reasonable."

"I suppose so."

"So what did she want?"

"Cremation and scattering of ashes."

"Is that a problem?"

"No, not that. That's fine, it’s the same as I've chosen myself." He sighed, and turned Dean's hand in his own. "The problem is..." He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Dean. I can't explain it to you at the moment. I have to talk to Gabriel."

"OK then," Dean replied, trying not to feel annoyed at being excluded. It was obviously a family thing, and Dean knew only too well how complex and dangerous family issues could be, and how difficult it was to try and explain them to an outsider -- and being Castiel's guide didn't automatically mean that he was entitled to know everything about him and his family. He squeezed Cas' hand as best he could and said, "How about we try another game of Scrabble?"

Unfortunately, the teasingly competitive mood from earlier had disappeared, and it was with some relief that they saw Sam and Gabe entering a while later. Sam, at least, was genuinely pleased for them both; Gabe greeted Cas fondly but his eyes darkened a little whenever he looked at Dean. Well, Dean could hardly blame him for that.

With a brief apologetic glance at Dean, Cas turned on the small portable radio that Sam had brought in the day before and took Gabe to the far corner of the room, where they conversed for several minutes in whispers so quiet that only sentinels had a hope of understanding.

Dean tried to concentrate on Sam, he really did, but he was unable to stop himself glancing over at Cas several times. Finally Sam gave an exasperated sigh and shifted his own position so that Dean had to turn his back on Cas and Gabe in order to see Sam.

"Sammy..."

"Let them talk in peace, Dean. It's obviously private."

"Yeah, I know -- family stuff. Something to do with Anna, anyway."

"Ah."

There was a tone in Sam's voice that got Dean's attention. "You know about this?"

"I know a little, just from something Gabe told me years ago about his own family."

"Well, go on, spill."

Sam shook his head. "It's not my place, and anyway, I could be wrong." He shrugged. "If Cas wants you to know, he'll tell you. If he doesn't want you to know then you should respect his privacy."

"Sammy..."

"No. Come on, talk about something else. I take it the grafting went OK this morning?"

With a sigh, Dean focused on Sam. "Yeah. Took longer to prepare it than it did to spray it. I'm sleeping on my front again for two nights, though, that's not going to be fun."

"Two nights' poor sleep is a pretty low price to pay for a graft that's not going to leave any scars."

"Yeah, I know, I know. I'm just grousing for the sake of it." He gave Sam a self-deprecating smile.

"So do you need any supplies brought in?"

"Yeah, actually -- I need something to do. All the hospital would bring in was one lousy game of Scrabble. The radio's great, but it's background. I need something to concentrate on."

"Books? There should be an English-language bookshop somewhere."

"Yes, books would be fine. Or a game or something."

"I'll see what I can find."

"Great."

Luckily for his peace of mind, Cas and Gabe finished their conversation a couple of minutes later. Cas turned off the radio and Gabe beckoned Sam to come with him.

"We'll be back later," he said, reassuringly. "I just have to get something for Cas."

"Yeah, Sam has to get something for me too," Dean acknowledged.

It was quiet after their visitors had left. Cas got back onto his bed and reached across to rub Dean's forearm. "Sorry," he said, with an apologetic smile.

"It's OK," Dean responded automatically even though his inner child was screaming, _Tell me! Tell me!_ "Family stuff's always awkward to try and explain to outsiders."

~~~~~

Sam and Gabe returned over three hours later, laden with parcels. Sam handed Dean a stack of novels, a set of playing cards and a travel game pack comprising chess, checkers and backgammon. "Sorry, Dean that's the best I could find."

"Hey, it's great, Sam. More than enough to keep us occupied."

Gabe handed Cas a similar stack of novels (more serious-looking than the ones Sam had chosen for Dean, he noted), plus a small pad of paper and a packet of envelopes.

"Thank you," said Castiel, gravely, reaching for a pen on the bedside unit.

"No problem, cuz. I still think you shouldn't bother."

"No, I must do this."

Gabriel sighed. "OK, but don't blame me when it comes right back at you."

"I won't."

While the other three conversed, Cas wrote for perhaps ten minutes, filling two sides of a sheet. With a sigh, he sealed the letter in its envelope and handed it to Gabriel, who held it in such a way that Dean couldn't read the address.

"I'll get it posted tonight," confirmed Gabe.

"Promise?"

Gabe nodded, though his expression showed that he really didn't agree with Cas' actions. "I promise. Cross my heart and everything." 

"Thanks."

Dean waited until Sam and Gabriel had left before saying, "Important letter?"

"Yes. I had to write to my parents to inform them of Anna's death."

"Couldn't you phone or send them an email?"

"No, writing is the proper medium for this message."

"So," Dean gave him a smile, "when do I get to meet them?"

Cas closed down immediately. "I'm afraid that will not be possible," he said, his tone cold and forbidding.

"Why not?" He knew he was pushing it, and Sam would be glaring at him if he were still there, but he wasn't, and Dean really wanted to know what the big deal was.

Cas hesitated, then he shrugged and said, slowly, "This will be the first communication with my family for almost nineteen years."

Dean was appalled. Nineteen years? If Cas was thirty-six now, that would mean ... that would mean he had been estranged from his family from the year he turned eighteen.

"What happened?"

"I expressed my desire to join up and serve my country in a way that was commensurate with a sentinel's talents. My parents disapproved. They belong to a small but very strict sect and had never really adjusted to my enhanced senses anyway. Wanting to join the Army was the last straw for them. I think they might have accepted service as a firefighter or emergency medical responder, but police and armed forces are anathema to them."

Dean leaned over and enveloped him in a hug. "That sucks man. I'm sorry."

"It's old history now."

"So, you joined up on your birthday?"

"A few months later, but essentially yes. While I was a minor I was unable to go against their wishes, so I had to delay my application until I had reached the legal age of majority. When Anna and I told them that we had applied and been accepted, they disowned us. Luckily we were able to stay with some friends and then at the Institute until our joining date. Gabriel's family was also supportive -- his mother had left the sect some years before us."

Dean thought about how two kids from such a sheltered background could have coped with being thrown out of the family home. It made his own misfortunes seem small in comparison -- sure, his father had died, but Bobby had stepped in to look after them, and he and Sam had never been homeless. Even when he left to join the army he had always had a place to come home to, family to phone, emails and photos to download and carry with him. He had been very lucky.

He tightened his arms around Cas and nuzzled his hair. He'd have to take Cas home with him for Thanksgiving or Christmas. He wasn't sure if Sam and Gabe would be able to get leave, but Bobby and Jodi and all the gang in Sioux Falls would love to meet his new partner. He'd give Cas a new family; a better family.

"This skin graft of yours is most inconvenient. I want to hug you back but I can't touch your skin."

"Yeah, it sucks. But it's a whole lot better than the old-style grafts."

"True." Cas ran his hands over Dean's arms, and gave him a wistful smile. "I think I shall develop an intimate acquaintance with your forearms over the next couple of weeks."

"I think I'd like that."

~~~~~

The following morning brought the news that two officers would be flying in to debrief them about the mission in Croatoa.

Dean immediately felt nauseated and started to hyperventilate. He had been doing his best to suppress all memory of those nightmare days and felt he had largely succeeded. He had no desire to go through everything again, especially when he knew that he wouldn't come out of it well. He'd failed, badly, and there was no amount of fast-talk that could disguise it, and he really, _really,_ didn't want to think about Jackson and Ponzi and Colonel Alistair.

"Dean. _Dean._ " Cas was holding him, murmuring his name, running hands up and down his arms.

Dean opened his eyes -- when had he closed them? -- and realized that they were alone. That was good. He hadn't embarrassed himself and Cas by breaking down in front of the medical staff.

"Sorry," he whispered, letting his head fall forward onto Cas' shoulder.

"It's all right. You're here, you're safe."

"I know. I know that."

"Knowing it isn't the same as feeling it."

"I just have to get a grip on things."

"You will."

Dean forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly, and that, combined with Cas' continued rubbing of his arm, enabled him to emerge slowly from the cloud of panic that had surrounded him.

He straightened up and gave Cas a bleak nod. "I'm OK now."

"Good." Cas straightened up too, and let go of him with a reassuring final pat on the arm.

Dean felt a paradoxical urge to pull him close again, but resisted. Guide or no guide, that didn't mean that he was attached to his sentinel at the hip, and he had no intention of turning into another Sam.

On the other hand ... he could do with a friendly face around when he was being questioned.

"Do sentinels and guides get to do joint debriefs?" he asked.

"Usually, yes. Why?"

"I really don't like the idea of being questioned on my own. It's stupid, I know it's not a trial or anything, they just want to get at the facts, but..."

"You feel that it might all get twisted around and you want someone who can support your account if necessary."

"Yeah. It's not like our accounts are going to be contaminated because everything they'll want to know happened before the team rescued me."

"Likewise, any information they want from me is likely to be from the period immediately preceding the extraction. The only part they may have an issue with is the time between leaving the camp and the destruction of the helicopter."

"Well there isn't much I can say for that part, anyway, I was face down in the helo for most of it."

"In which case they'll probably agree. And there is no point excluding me from your part of the debrief, since I can listen in from anywhere in the hospital."

"You can?"

"Yes. Now I know your heartbeat and your scent I could follow you anywhere."

"Wow." And that was either the most endearing or the most stalkery thing Dean had ever heard. He didn't doubt it, though -- sentinels had been known to track their guides over impossible distances. Hell, back when Sam had been kidnapped Gabe had found him four days later and fifty kilometers away when there was no scent trail at all ... and Dean still thought there was something hinky about that, but neither Sam nor Gabe had ever explained it, except to say it was a sentinel thing.

"So we'll go through the debriefing together."

"Thanks," Dean said, and he honestly meant it. He knew he'd have to talk about his ordeal in Croatoa -- which was going to be nearly as bad as going through it the first time -- and while one part of him was terrified that Cas would think him a coward, another part was rationally reminding him that Cas had already got the condensed version when they were picked up. He already knew the worst and still wanted Dean for his guide ... or at least, he hadn't refused him, which was the next best thing.

Cas smiled at him, and he felt a little better.

"Dean, is there anything you wish me to know before the debriefing?"

Or maybe not.

Cas frowned. "Your expression and the change in your heart rate indicate that my question disturbed you."

Oh, great. How could he forget that he was now bonded to a human lie detector? Cas did have a point, though. He was going to be going through some fairly disturbing stuff during the session, and he wasn't really sure he was going to hold it together.

"You know what I told you and the captain when we got picked up. They'll want more details. They'll want to know exactly what he did, exactly what I said."

Cas touched his arm again. "I already know that you were tortured and raped. I already know that you broke down and gave him information. That doesn't make you a bad person. It doesn't make you weak."

Dean threw him a glance but there was nothing in his tone to indicate how disgusted he might feel. It didn't matter, anyway. Dean had more than enough disgust for himself. "I'm a soldier. I've done the training. I should have been stronger."

"It doesn't matter how strong you are or how much training you've had. Everyone breaks. I'd say your breaking point was ... appropriate."

"Appropriate?"

"Yes."

"How the fuck do you work that out?"

Cas shrugged. "You're alive and not permanently damaged."

"But --"

"What information did you give up?"

Dean forced himself to say the words. "Everything. Prisoner locations, call-signs, frequencies, patrol schedules, access codes ... anything they asked for."

Cas was silent for a minute, and Dean slowly folded in on himself. He'd given Colonel Alistair everything. He was a traitor to his unit, to his fellow-soldiers. He'd betrayed everyone. He should have died rather than given up.

Cas considered the information gravely, and said, "That doesn't sound too bad to me."

"What?"

"Everything you gave up was small-scale and time-limited. Inconsequential. Unimportant in the long run. If they haven't already used it, they won't get the chance."

"But ... So what would you call important?"

"Things that can't be changed quickly. Strategic plans, undercover agent identities, advanced R&D, materiel acquisitions, that sort of thing."

"I don't know any of that."

"I know. So you never had anything that was worth losing a body part for."

"But--"

"No buts. Torture isn't a contest. I mean it -- you don't get any prizes for holding out. The only goal is survival, and sometimes that is best achieved by giving in. In my opinion you made the right call at the right time."

The words were meant to be a comfort to him, he knew, but somehow he just couldn't believe it. He'd fucked up and he'd failed badly. That was never going to go away.

"Whatever you say, sir."

Cas cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. "I'm not telling you this as an officer. I'm not even telling you as a sentinel. I'm just speaking as one soldier to another. You survived and you escaped. That means you won. And because you escaped, we now have important information about the Croatoans we didn't have before."

"Like what?"

"Firstly, they had a spy in the camp. Secondly, they were so keen to get those prisoners back they risked unmasking their spy and taking out a convoy from within our front lines to get information. And thirdly, they have a rogue interrogator who may well prove to be a weak spot."

"How the hell to do work all that out?"

Cas shrugged. "It’s just logical extrapolation."

Dean just stared at him. When he actually thought about it, he could see how Cas had come to his conclusions, but he would never have bothered to start the process in the first place. Well, that was why Cas was an officer and he was just a soldier.

~~~~~

The debriefing the following day was just as harrowing as Dean had expected. The two officers were determinedly neutral in their attitude and Dean was worried that he was going to get reprimanded for what he'd done. Not even the presence of Cas could stop him hyperventilating a couple of times as he described what Colonel Alistair had done to him and Jackson and Ponzi. For some reason it was still Ponzi -- Ponzi's ruined face and helpless whimpers -- that affected him the most. He was grateful for Cas beside him, holding onto his arm and forcing the debriefing team to give him a break.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to Cas as he struggled with a beaker of juice.

"Don't be. You're doing very well."

"It gets so difficult to breathe when I think about it."

"I know. Only a few more minutes and then it will be my turn. You can hold on for a few more minutes, can't you?"

Dean nodded. He could do this. He could do it for Cas. He could do it for his team; for the ones who'd died.

He made it through to the end, though it took an immense effort not to break down again, even with Castiel's calm presence beside him. He finished his description of that last session with the colonel, the return to his cell for night and the morning routine, before relating how Anna entered his cell and helped him to escape.

He was grateful for the additional break for refreshments they took before starting Castiel's debrief, though the two biscuits and lukewarm coffee weren't nearly enough to settle him. Cas made him take one of the protein drinks as well -- he made a face, but he had to admit that it helped.

Castiel's portion of the debrief was much more straightforward. He laid out the mission briefing before they left, the scouting expedition, the decision to enter in daylight as soon as he had made an aural survey of the camp rather than waiting for the early hours of the morning (which Dean was profoundly grateful for, as he would have been considerably worse off after another session with Colonel Alistair) and the mad dash to the helicopter. He had a little difficulty maintaining his composure when he described Anna getting shot, and Dean took the opportunity to give him a consoling one-armed hug when they took a short break. After that, though, he managed to provide a concise and accurate account of the firefight and the way the helicopter had been disabled.

Then it was Dean's turn again, relating their subsequent journey through southern Croatoa, the death of Anna, and his attempts to keep Cas aware and focused on the mission. He had to confess that his memory of the last twelve hours or so was fuzzy but that didn't seem to worry the two officers.

Castiel followed with his own version of their journey. Dean wasn't surprised to find that Cas had noted many more patrols than he'd let on, but he was a little disconcerted when Cas described just how sick Dean had been. From the way Cas put it, he'd been lucky he was still standing and able to talk by the time they were picked up. Cas also gave a quick summary of his initial treatment at the hospital, before they'd been separated. Although he was careful not to criticize the medical staff, it was clear that he had tried to remain with Dean and been forcibly removed.

Finally they were done, and the two officers packed up their recording equipment and left Dean and Cas to recover in peace.

Dean found that he was almost shaking, and Cas wasn't much better. They ate their lunch in silence and stayed as close to each other as possible.

"I think they're going to force me into seeing a psych," Dean muttered as he pushed his tray away.

Cas nodded. "It's standard practice after something like that. And honestly, Dean, it will probably help."

"Maybe, but I don't feel comfortable opening up to a stranger."

"You just debriefed to two people you'd never seen before."

"That's different -- I was just telling them what happened. I didn't have to tell them how I feel about it. I didn't have to go into any details about my shitty childhood or my dreams or anything."

"Well you may not have to with the psych either. It depends on what comes up in the screening."

"I guess." He knew he didn't sound convinced.

He was dreading it, in fact. He'd been through the psychological screening process before, when he'd returned from deployment, and he'd just laughed it off. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to do that this time, even without Cas alongside to as his own personal lie detector. After what he'd been through there was no way that the psychs would clear him back to combat status until he'd been turned inside out.

Cas rubbed his arm gently, and Dean managed to come up with a smile. He'd deal with the psych as and when it was necessary. Until then all he had to do was heal and get to know his new partner.

~~~~~

Late that afternoon Sam and Gabe came in to say goodbye. Gabe was carrying a bakery carton and the smell of cooked apples caught Dean's attention immediately.

"Is that for me?" he asked.

"No it's for the cleaning staff," replied Gabriel immediately. "Oh, by the way, good evening, Gabe, it's nice to see you, Gabe, thank you for visiting."

"Word to the wise, Gabe," said Sam, taking the carton from him and putting it on Dean's tray table. "Never get between Dean and pie."

"Damn right," said Dean with a grin. He opened the carton and eagerly lifted out the contents, taking a deep, appreciative sniff. "Well it certainly smells like pie even if it doesn't look quite the same."

"It's apfeltasche," Sam said. "It translates to apple pocket. But it tastes the same, I can assure you."

"Excellent." He smiled happily at Gabe and said, "Thank you for the pie."

"You're welcome ... more or less. And it's for Cas too."

"Of course." He smiled across at Cas, then looked up at Sam. "I don't suppose you managed any cream or ice cream?"

Sam rolled his eyes and reached into his bag and pulled out a small tub of cream. "They don't have cream in a can here, but that's the finest clotted cream I could find. Guaranteed to annihilate the arteries if you take more than a teaspoonful."

"You're a god, Sammy. I know how it must have hurt to have to pay for that."

"Yeah, well, it's our last visit so I figured I could deal with the pain."

"Now all we need is a couple of bowls and spoons and we're set." He gave Sam his best puppy eyes and waited.

Sam heaved a sigh of capitulation and went to get something they could use to eat the apfeltasche.

Gabe turned to Cas. "How did the interrogation go?"

"It was a debriefing. And it went well," Cas responded.

Dean snorted. Yeah, right.

"It did," Cas repeated, giving him a stern look.

"I needed two time-outs."

"I needed one, also."

Dean rolled his eyes. He suspected Cas had only insisted on a short break because he felt it would make Dean feel better about his own almost-meltdown. Still, it was all over now, unless they decided to have an inquest, in which case he'd have to go over the same ground over again. He hoped that Cas was right and that it would get easier with practice.

"But they were OK with it?" Gabe asked.

"Yes, they reviewed the tapes over lunch and came back with some additional questions, but as far as we know, it's all done now."

"Good. So all you have to do is get better and go back home."

"Eventually, yes. We'll have to wait until Dean is fit to travel, but that shouldn't be more than a fortnight. Balthazar is trying to get us a temporary attachment to the Institute while we're on convalescent leave."

"That will be good. I've only visited briefly, but it's a beautiful site."

"It is." Cas didn't say any more and looked as if the memory had upset him. Dean reached out with his bandaged hand and stroked his shoulder, receiving a grateful smile in return.

Sam returned with two bowls and two spoons, and soon Dean and Cas were tucking into their apple pastry (once Sam had chopped the pastry into spoon-sized pieces, since Dean still had problems trying to put any pressure through his broken hands). Even Cas had had to admit that the hospital food was unappetizing, and the pie was a welcome change.

Dean watched Cas eating, and felt content. Sure, he'd had a bad couple of weeks, but his injuries were healing, he had a kick-ass sentinel partner and he was getting on better with his brother's partner than he had in years. Add pie to that, and he had to say that life was pretty damned good at the moment.

Whatever came up in the next few months ... well, he'd deal. He always did.

THE END (for now)


End file.
